Lion, Eagle, Badger, Snake
by Sheriff1985
Summary: Slytherin House isn't what it used to be. There are barely enough children to fill a classroom, let alone a House Table, and the Quidditch captain is a muggle-born fourth year. For a new generation starting at Hogwarts as the war drifts into memory, there's far more to learn about the four Houses than they could ever have imagined (prequel to Snake Bites).
1. Chudleigh

A single picture sat on the table beside Gregory Bennett's bed. The eleven-year-old boy lay down on top of his duvet cover, gazing at the image of his own face staring back.

All around the boy's untidy blond hair, his old classmates stood, grinning excitedly towards the camera, whilst Greg's photograph simply stared glumly back out of the frame.

'They never got it,' he sighed, rolling away from the picture to stare up towards the whitewashed ceiling. 'The quarter-finals of the cup, and they never got it.' Greg shut his eyes, remembering the football match where the photograph had been taken, when Chudleigh Primary School had been heavily beaten by a team from the nearby city of Exeter. The team photo had been taken after the full-time whistle, and Greg still could not understand how so many of his team mates were grinning after losing so badly.

He reached out, knocking the picture over so that it fell face-down onto the bedside table, and dragged himself across to the bedroom window. The first rays of watery morning sunshine had begun to break through a thin layer of cloud that had settled over the distant Haldon hills, lending a warm glow to the streets of the quiet Devon village.

Greg turned around, grabbing a thin, white football shirt from the end of his bedsheets and pulling it over his tangled hair. 'I'm going out in the garden, Mum,' he called as he hurried down the staircase of the low-slung detached house, 'playing football.'

'Just like every other morning,' Elaine Bennett answered from another upstairs room as her only son turned the key in the front door.

The grass that covered the square front garden of the Bennetts' house at 11, Manaton Close, Chudleigh, had been charred to a yellow-brown thatch by a combination of the August sunshine and the constant wear from Greg's trainers. A battered football, some of its leather panels hanging by a thread and others missing completely, settled underneath a wooden goal frame, waiting for the boy's attention.

The eleven-year-old rolled the ball away from the netting with the sole of his foot, before lifting it up onto his shoelaces and beginning a series of keep-ups. 'One, two, three, chest, knee, four, five, six...' He repeated the sequence to himself, controlling the ball as best he could whilst taking the occasional shot into the netting that hung still on the windless morning.

It was a regular routine for Greg, come sunshine or showers, and one that his neighbours had come to expect as they passed the Bennetts' house. The next person who would reach the front gates, however, knew the family better than many other passers-by would have done.

Matthew Sawyer was almost three years older than Greg, but even so the two boys had been close friends since either of them could remember. Their mothers had gone to school together, worked together, been bridesmaids at one another's weddings, and now lived a few hundred yards away from each other. Matthew wasn't technically Greg's cousin, and his mother had no blood reason to be called Auntie Jen, but neither of the two children had ever questioned it.

Whilst the boys didn't see as much of each other as they did when they were younger – Matthew had left the village primary school to join a boarding school in Scotland three summers ago – Greg was still delighted to see the fourteen-year-old push open the steel gates of number eleven, and make his way up the new brick paving on the driveway. 'Alright, Greg?'

'Yep, fine,' the eleven-year-old replied with a smile. 'What about you?' He looked up from the football, which – as usual – sat beside his feet. 'Did you have a good holiday?'

'Yeah,' A smile crossed Matthew's tanned face as the older boy lifted a copy of the local newspaper, the Express and Echo, out of a reflective yellow bag that hung over his shoulder. 'Thanks. We just got back yesterday.'

'Cool,' Greg answered. 'I went to a football camp with City last week. I really want to get into the A team at the Grammar School.'

'Well done for getting in.' Matthew nodded. 'Go on, then,' he grinned. 'Show us how good you are.'

Greg swivelled on his left foot, turning and striking the battered football in one movement, only to see it crash into the wooden crossbar of the goal and loop, frustratingly, over the low wall that ran around the front of the garden.

'Are you sure you want to stick to football?' Matthew laughed. 'I reckon you might be better off in the rugby team...' The older boy shoved the newspaper through the Bennetts' letterbox.

Greg rolled his eyes, 'Shut up, Matt!'

'Sorry, mate,' Matthew reached out, ruffling his friend's already messy hair. 'I'll go and get it for you, but only cause my round goes that way!' The fourteen-year-old retraced his steps along the driveway, pushing the fringe of his long, straight brown hair out of his eyes as he lobbed the ball back into the garden. For once, however, football couldn't have been further from his friend's mind. 'Greg?' Matthew asked. 'Greg, are you alright, mate?'

Matthew's confusion didn't last for more than a couple of seconds, as a long, low hooting sound alerted him to the distraction that now consumed the concentration of the younger boy. An owl, sandy brown in its plumage and flecked with streaks of a darker colour, almost mahogany, was making its way unerringly towards number eleven, carrying what looked like a sheet of parchment in its talons. Greg's mouth fell open as he stared, eyes wide and fixed on the bird's unchanging wingbeat.

'Oh, my...' Matthew shook his head, reaching out to keep his balance as he stumbled backwards, scarcely able to believe what his eyes were telling him was happening. Greg's eyes remained glued to their unexpected visitor as the bird delivered its responsibility through the same letterbox that had taken the local paper seconds before.

'Matt...' The blond-haired boy stuttered. 'Did you see... did that bird... just...?'

'Yeah, I saw it, mate.' The easy humour of moments ago had drifted away from Matthew's voice. 'Come on, let's go and look at what it says. I'll come with you.' Greg remained standing, static, in the centre of the Bennetts' lawn as Matthew planted his left hand on the top of the imitation dry-stone wall. He pivoted on his outstretched hand, launching himself over the fuchsias and back onto the dry, boot-scarred grass.

'Come on, mate.' Matthew noticed a chill on his friend's skin as he gave the younger boy a gentle shove in the back.

'Um... yeah.' Greg blinked, shaking himself from his trance and allowing Matthew to guide him toward oak-panelled front door of his house. The older boy pushed the door open and glanced down at the envelope lying on top of the newspaper, its rich red seal and tea-stain beige contrasting with the black and white of the newspaper's sports pages. Matthew reached down and picked up the parchment with his right hand, keeping his left around the eleven-year-old's shoulders. 'Uncle Joe? Auntie Elaine?'

After a moment, a woman's voice called from upstairs. 'Matthew?'

Matthew hesitated, 'Yeah...' he paused. 'You need to come down here,' he swallowed. 'It's about Greg.'

'Greg? Where's Greg?' Elaine Bennett heard the words that Matthew hadn't said as well as those which he had spoken. 'What's happened to Greg?' the voice from upstairs heightened in pitch, echoing over the sound of anguished footsteps.

Matthew swore under his breath before Elaine's voice called out again, louder than ever. 'Is my boy alright? Where is he?'

'He's... he's fine, he's here. It's just...'

Greg's mother appeared at the top of the staircase and looked down at the two boys standing by the doorway, her only son's face pale and his eyes withdrawn. The rash of freckles over the bridge of Greg's nose stood out more than ever as a stream of sweat trickled from the untidy fringe of his blond hair, and down onto his white football shirt. 'Gregory!'

Elaine Bennett rushed down the staircase towards the young boy as she swept him up in her arms, dwarfing the eleven-year-old in all imaginable dimensions. Matthew took a step backward, watching as Greg closed his eyes and pressed his face into his mother's chest. The older boy noticed a stray tear running down his friend's face, before stepping back into the corner of the hallway, trying to shrink away from the mother and son.

It was the best part of two minutes before Mrs Bennett remembered the presence of Matthew. 'Did you see...?'

Matthew cut off Greg's mother's question mid-sentence. 'Yeah, yes I did. I think you both probably ought to sit down.'

Mrs Bennett nodded gently and, taking her son into her arms, turned her back on Matthew and walked through into the front room of 11, Manaton Close. Matthew followed, clutching the owl-borne parchment that had played havoc with his morning's paper round, and gave the question burning at the forefront of his mind a final second's worth of thought. Bracing himself, he pushed himself away from the hallway wall and quietly followed the Bennetts into the front room.

Matthew sat down on an ageing brown-and-beige armchair which lay opposite a matching three-seat sofa where his friend perched, shielded by his mother. 'Matthew?' Mrs Bennett's voice echoed inside the boy's mind and he shook himself out of a daydream and back into the summer of 2005. 'You said that you saw...'

'Here.' Matthew placed the envelope in front of Greg on the small glass-topped table that separated the two seats. 'This was delivered by owl a moment ago.'

'Owl?!' His mother's response came in an angry snap. 'Matthew Sawyer, are you trying to tell me that my son is scared out of his mind because a bloody _owl_ has been delivering the mail?'

Matthew took a deep breath, steadying himself for a brief second and, forcing his voice to remain calm, spoke as politely as he could muster. 'Please read through the letter'.

Awkward silence descended upon the house for the third time in as many minutes, as the three of them eyed the envelope. It was eventually the younger boy who moved forward, hands shaking slightly and damp still lining his eyes, to pick up the parchment. Matthew smiled, albeit weakly, as his friend eased his finger across the seal at the back of the envelope.

Slowly sliding the contents of the envelope – several sheets of a parchment identical in colour and texture from their container – out from its inside, Greg began to read. His voice barely registered above the ticking of an old carriage clock that sat on the fireplace.

 _Dear Mr Bennett,_

 _We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

He broke off, his breathing quickened and his face pale again. 'Hog- _what_?'

'Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' Matthew was quietly impressed with the calmness of his voice as he heard it leave his lips. 'You know I told you I go to a boarding school in Scotland,' he swallowed. 'Well, I didn't tell you the whole truth. I don't go to Merchiston Castle – I go to Hogwarts. It's a boarding school for – erm – people who are capable of performing magic.'

Matthew reached into the pocket of his slightly worn blue jeans. 'This', he said, aware of the Bennetts' gazes focusing on the object he'd removed from his trousers, 'is my wand… eight inches long, willow with powdered dragon claw. I can't show you any spellwork or anything because I'm underage…' Matthew ended his sentence abruptly and held the wand out to his friend.

'For real?' Greg extended his left hand to feel the wand, and looked apprehensively into the older boy's eyes for the first time in their conversation.

Matthew took the time to look back at Greg and answered simply. 'Yes.'

'You're not just taking the – you know?'

Matthew managed half a smile. 'No, mate. I swear to it – every word I've said is as true as it can be. You've been my friend since we were both little. I wouldn't do this to you for the hell of it, would I?'

The younger boy smiled back for the first time since he had been playing football minutes ago and continued to read from the letter.

'Can I get you a drink or something?' Matthew stood up, edging towards the doorway between the front room and the hallway.

'I'd love a glass of water.' Mrs Bennett understood Matthew's intentions instantly. 'You know where the kitchen is, don't you?'

'Where can I get all of this stuff?' As Matthew returned with three glasses of water, he was bombarded with a volley of questions as Greg's voice filled out into its normal confident tone. How do I get onto Platform 9¾? How can I send them an owl? What…'

'Slow down, slow down, mate!' Matthew laughed. 'Sounds like you've decided you fancy going then!'

'Yeah… thank you.'

'What for?'

'Well…' Greg's voice faltered a little, 'if you hadn't been, you know, then I dunno what would've happened… I guess, I guess…' Greg tailed off as he looked towards the other boy in the hope that Matthew understood the unconvincing attempt at a sentence that he'd just come up with.

'Don't worry about anything, Greg – they'd have made sure you got there in the end. It took them sixteen letters and then Professor Flitwick had to Apparate into my bedroom before I was convinced someone wasn't taking the mickey…' Matthew tailed off at his friend's blank look.

'Apparate?'

'Er… forget I said it. You wanna walk before you start running,' he smiled. 'Tell you what, come round my place this afternoon and I'll show you all my first-year kit, see if you can use any of it. Then I guess we can go to Diagon Alley tomorrow if we need much else.'

'Diagon…?'

'Later!' Matthew grinned. 'I'll ring you… but right now I've still got fifty Express & Echoes in my delivery bag at the end of your driveway. Just don't tell anyone any of this; there are plenty of good reasons that we keep to ourselves. See you later.'

'See you, mate.' Greg, now with colour firmly returned to his face, closed his front door, picked up the letter once again and hurtled up the staircase. Covering three steps at a time, he bounded through his bedroom door and collapsed onto his bed, reading the parchment through once, twice, three more times. 'Wow…'

If Matthew had been asked to list the most unlikely things he could think of to interrupt a morning's paper round, "Hogwarts' Business" would certainly have ranked highly, probably just behind crashing his bike into an overturned UFO. One teenage wizard in a tiny Devonian village was one thing – two began to make him wonder. Maybe it wasn't just coincidence that one of Britain and Ireland's twelve professional Quidditch teams had chosen this unlikely spot as its base all those years ago.

It was with quaffles, bludgers and snitches on his mind that he completed his scheduled deliveries and returned to his empty house, only a handful of streets away from Manaton Close – where, he thought, Greg was in all likelihood still beside himself with anticipation as to what the next year held in store. After absentmindedly making his way through a decidedly non-magical pair of cheese sandwiches, he picked up the telephone to call his friend. It was answered in less than a ring.

'Matt?'

'Are you sitting on the phone or something?!' The older boy laughed at his friend's unabashed enthusiasm, contrasting it to the shaken picture he'd presented a little more than an hour ago.

Greg made a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a groan, which Matthew took to be one of agreement. 'Erm… I…'

'So, basically, that's a yes, right? I guess you don't need any more persuading to come round and have a look at my stuff then, do you?'

'Now?'

'No, next Tuesday. When do you think?'

'See you in a minute.'

Matthew heard the sound of the receiver being slammed back onto its hook and rolled his eyes before saying, aloud but to himself, 'Kids… I swear I wasn't this mad…'

He had barely the time to replace his end of the phone line before the impatient hammering came upon the front door. Looking upon his friend, whose hair once again lay in a matted and sweat-filled jumble on top of an eager face which bore every hallmark of having sprinted the three hundred metres between the two boys' houses, he couldn't suppress a grin. 'What took you?'

The younger boy looked back at him with mock frustration. 'Don't try and be funny, Matt. Your jokes have never been any good.'

'All the more reason to keep practising, then?'

'See what I mean? Anyway, where's your stuff? I've never seen it here before, I'd never…' Greg's sentences merged into one as his excitement once again got the better of the more refined functions of his brain.

'Slow _down_!' Matthew reached out and pulled his friend over the threshold of his home, pushing the door closed behind him. 'You'd never guess, but I don't generally leave it hanging around for anyone and everyone to see… what's someone going to think if they see _Intermediate Defensive Magic: Counter-curses and jinxes_ lying on the coffee table? Just cause you're excited doesn't mean you get to turn your brain off…'

'Okay, okay, I get you, so where d'you keep it? How much stuff have you got? How do you get it here? Would any of it be any good for a first-year?' Greg paused, seemingly out of questions.

Matthew was tempted to interrupt again midway through the stream, but decided to let his friend's rambling run its natural course before taking back control of the conversation. 'In the attic. Yes, the attic you thought wasn't safe to go in. Now, you're going to get a drink and calm yourself down before you explode or something!'

Greg looked back at him, about to argue again. 'But…'

'No buts! If you're this excited just thinking about my stuff, I don't want to see what happens when you see my broomstick...' He smiled, dropping a kindly arm round his friend's shoulders and leading him through into the kitchen before adding, as an afterthought, 'I never thought I'd sound so much like my Dad…'


	2. Cannons

To any passers-by looking in on through the kitchen window of the Sawyer household, nothing would seem beyond the ordinary. Two boys sat around the table, sharing a slice of cake and bottle of lemonade and excitedly discussing something of common interest. Open the kitchen window, however, and the passer-by would immediately notice the unusual nature of their conversation.

'Alright, I guess you're ready now', the older of the two boys spoke to his younger friend, before reminding him, 'so long as you keep your head…'

Greg Bennett eagerly followed Matthew Sawyer up the two flights of stairs that lead to the attic where Matthew's wizarding collection lay, defended by a large, yellow and black laminated sign that proclaimed, ' _Danger – Fragile ceiling. Use crawling boards_ '.

'So the roof's not really dangerous?' inquired Greg, a little apprehensively.

''Course it ain't… Mum and Dad would never have left it so long, would they?'

Matthew stopped at the top of the second flight, in front of a well-worn, dark brown wooden door. He extracted his wand from his jeans pocket, carefully pressing it against the ornately carved brass lock on the right hand side of the door before gently easing it open to the sound of creaking and uncooperative hinges.

The attic was similar in décor to the door which protected it, with deep brown floorboards, wardrobes and bookcases contrasting against bare walls and the dim light offered through the dust-ridden moss green lampshade. Next to the bookcase, its shelves covered with a combination of battered leather-bound tomes, dishevelled piles of parchment and bottles, boxes and vials of various exotically-named potion ingredients, lay a well-polished broomstick that balanced against a majestic travelling trunk. One wall was dominated by a maroon and gold banner and what appeared to Greg to be a team photograph of some kind. His curiosity once again took hold. 'Who's that photo of?'

'Why don't you go and have look? The ceiling's safe, honest!'

Greg edged across the attic towards the furthest wall. 'Chudley Cannons,' he read. 'Who are they? Why are they moving?'

'Wizards' photos do that, mate,' Matthew laughed, easing open the cord attached to the skylight and allowing the August sunshine into the attic. 'They're the best Quidditch team in the world.'

'Quidditch?' Greg looked back, blank again.

Matthew laughed. 'I'd forgotten that you didn't know anything about anything.'

'Hey,' Greg retorted, hurt. 'That's not true!'

'Sorry, mate,' Matthew jogged across the room and dropped his hand around his friend's shoulders. 'It's not your fault, mate. I was the same.'

'Well, can you tell me some of these things then, Matty?' Greg pleaded, the colour slipping out of his face once more.

'Yes, Greg, sorry.' He pulled his friend closer and smiled. 'Just winding you up, mate. I'm gonna go and get some more lemonade – it's too hot in here. I'm never usually here for more than about two minutes.'

Matthew scampered down the staircase, returning moments later with the two glasses and the bottle of drink. 'Here you are, mate.' He sat down on a red beanbag, nestling under the warm golden arc cast by the skylight, and poured out drinks for himself and the other boy.

'Was it this hot in Spain?' Greg copied his friend in taking a seat in the sunshine.

'Yeah,' Matthew smiled, 'every day. I don't think I've ever had a tan this good.' He lifted his t-shirt up and over his head.

'Cool,' Greg smiled, nervously. 'I just get sunburned when I take my top off,' he pulled his own shirt off. 'See,' he pointed to a pink-red haze beneath the scattered freckles over his chest and shoulders.

'You've just got to get used to it. Look at your arms.' He pointed to his friend's forearms, where the pink background faded into a hazelnut brown underneath a tighter mesh of freckles.

'I guess.' He looked back to the wall, holding his arms tightly across his bare shoulders. 'So, who are the Cannons?'

'My favourite Quidditch team, Greg.' He sensed the next question. 'Quidditch is the most popular sport in the wizarding world... it's like a cross between football, rugby, basketball, and hide and seek – and it's _awesome_.'

Greg stared at his friend, willing him to continue.

'There are seven players on a team. Three are the chasers, whose job is to score goals through the hoops at each end of the pitch, and there's one keeper – I bet you can guess what he has to do. Then there's two beaters, who are meant to smash bludgers, like really heavy balls, at the other players to put them off, and then the most important player on the pitch – the seeker. He has to catch the golden snitch, a tiny, rapid golden ball, and if he does this then he gets 150 points... and his team almost always wins.'

Greg nodded, slowly. 'If it's so fast, how do you ever catch it?'

'Oh yeah,' Matthew laughed, 'I forgot to tell you that – it's all on broomsticks... which also makes it bloody dangerous if you fall off.'

Greg shivered, his mouth dropping open, as a swear word escaped from his lips. 'Sorry...'

Matthew grinned. 'It doesn't matter, mate. I've said that before – and worse...'

Greg's face had turned redder than the day-old sunburn over his shoulders. 'I've never said the f-word, _never_.'

Matthew shrugged, taking a long gulp from his glass of lemonade. 'You will.'

'How do you know?' Greg's voice rose, challenging his friend's accusation. 'What makes you think I'm gonna say it?'

'Cause, Greg, everybody does,' he ruffled his friend's hair, kindly. 'It's normal, mate. My Dad says swearing's a way of coping with things. Sometimes you've just got to do it. Like then, mate.'

Greg nodded slowly, dropping back onto the beanbag beside the older boy. 'I guess...'

'Mum says there's a time and a place for it, though,' Matthew continued, 'don't go and say it to the Headmistress on your first day!'

'I wasn't going to,' Greg pleaded.

'I know you weren't, mate,' Matthew laughed. 'You do know you take things way too seriously, don't you, Greg?'

'I don't mean to,' the eleven-year-old defended himself. 'I just hate it when I don't know what's going to happen...' He hesitated. 'I won't know anyone else in my year, will I? What if I don't make any friends? What if I'm crap at all the lessons? I don't even know what lessons are like...'

'Come on, Greg,' Matthew stretched an arm around his friend's shoulders. 'When have you ever been crap at anything? When have you ever had no friends? _Everyone_ is going to be new, mate – everyone. Some kids won't even have an awesomely talented, handsome neighbour to help them out...'

'Oh, piss off,' Greg smiled, aiming a half-hearted swat towards his friend's face before brushing the top of his forearm over his own reddened eyes.

'All I'm saying, mate,' Matthew returned his friend's grin, 'is that, whatever happens, it ain't going to be the end of the world. No matter how much stuff you explode in Potions.'

Greg's mouth started to fall open with shock before his friend's laughter told him that, once again, the older boy was joking. 'I told you your jokes were rubbish, Matt.' He kicked out at his friend, who rolled away, still grinning, before Greg sought to change the subject. 'Do you play Quidditch, then?'

For a wordless second, Matthew stared back at his friend, before switching his gaze to a hard-bound book on the low table at his side.

'Do you?' Greg repeated himself.

Matthew sighed. 'Read this.' He threw the thick leather volume the short distance towards his friend. 'Page 136.'

Greg gasped as the book snapped open, riffling through its own pages to fall into his lap, as the other boy had asked, with page 136 facing upwards. 'H... House Quidditch?'

'You still have houses on sports day at Chudleigh Primary, don't you?' Matthew asked, but his eyes still looked in the opposite direction to his words, so that Greg had to answer with more than a nod. 'Well, this is kind of the same.'

'Alright...' Greg glanced back down to the pages in front of him. 'Gryffindor House retained the Quidditch Cup in 2005, completing a grand slam season with a resounding victory over Ravenclaw in the final game of the season.' He looked back at his older friend, but still couldn't meet his gaze. 'Are you in Gryffindor?'

'Keep reading,' Matthew shrugged.

'In a season memorable for a major change in the sport's rules – the controversial introduction of a three-hour time limit, divided into three one-hour periods – many had expected scoring records to broken. For the first time in hundreds of years, games could end without the capture of the snitch.

What they had not counted on, however, was that the record for the all-time highest score would also fall – and in the opening match of the season, at that. Defending champions Gryffindor were the side to write their names into the history books, as they racked up 660 points to Slytherin's 10.

As the match drew deep into the third period, it had seemed as if the pursuit of the snitch had become unimportant to Gryffindor, as seeker Jason Newitt joined in with his side's chasers in shredding Slytherin's beleaguered defence. With only minutes remaining until the bell, however, Newitt ducked away from an attacking move to pluck the snitch and bring the match to a crushing conclusion.

The final score eclipsed Ravenclaw's 540-80 victory over Hufflepuff in the 1988 competition, although Gryffindor's famous 490-410 triumph over the same opposition fifteen years earlier remains the highest-scoring fixture in the history of the school.

As this reporter approached defeated Slytherin captain, Matthew Sawyer – scorer of his side's only goal in the 650-point mauling – the third-year's response came back entirely unprintable. "Yeah, that's what we thought of you as well," a nearby Ravenclaw boy added as he overheard...' Greg dropped the book, allowing it to magically shut itself, and gazed back to his friend, who still didn't meet the younger boy's stare. 'Matt? Is that you?'

'No, who do you think it is?' Matthew snapped, jerking his neck around to glare back – in time to see Greg turning away to stare at the ground. 'Sorry...' he added, belatedly, pushing himself up to cross the attic floor. 'It's not your fault we got hammered.' He sat down alongside Greg's slumped figure. 'I didn't mean to shout at you,' he shook his head, 'I never thought about how I'd explain this...'

Matthew reached his arm out, covering his friend's sunburned shoulders, and let his eyelids fall shut as the story of the last Quidditch season replayed itself inside his mind. '660-10,' he repeated the miserable scoreline. '660-10.'

'Matt...?' Greg stirred, brushing his straggled blond fringe away from his eyes as he shuffled against the beanbag for a space from which he could look into the other boy's eyes. 'Is that team for people in all the year groups?'

The older boy nodded silently.

'Then how come you're captain?'

'I _was_ captain, last year,' Matthew corrected his friend. 'They'll never make me captain again, not after _that_.'

'Did... did you lose your other games, as well?' Greg bit his bottom lip as he asked another question.

Matthew nodded again, as Greg realised that the older boy hadn't yet answered his first query. 'You still haven't told me why you were captain.'

'Why does it matter?' Matthew avoided the issue once again.

'It's my school, too,' Greg didn't move his gaze from Matthew's forehead, 'and anyway, you told me Hogwarts was great. You said Quidditch was _awesome_. Why'd you lie to me?'

'I didn't lie to you,' Matthew's eyes fixed on an old copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that lay on the floor a few feet away from his left hand.

'What?' Greg stood up, abruptly. 'What are you talking about?'

'You wouldn't understand,' Matthew sniped back. 'It'll be great for you. You won't end up in the mess I got into. You won't try doing more than...' He tailed off. 'Doesn't matter.'

Greg swallowed, feeling his heartbeat pattering against his ribcage as he watched his friend's breathing grow shallow and hurried. 'You're hiding something.' He repeated himself. 'What is it? What happened, what don't you want to tell me? How can you be sure that I won't do the same thing?'

Matthew looked back into Greg's eyes for the first time, and shook his head, slowly.

'Fine!' Greg shouted back. 'I don't know why the hell anyone would make you captain of anything, anyway, if this is how you treat other people.' He watched the fourteen-year-old roll over, slipping face down into the beanbag. 'No wonder you lost 600-10.'

'660,' Matthew wrenched his head upwards, his eyes burning. 'If you're going to take the piss, at least get your bloody facts right.' He blinked, screwing his eyes shut to force their moisture out into the red rims. 'Have you got anything else you'd like to blame me for?'

Greg shook his head, stumbling backwards into the grasp of the other attic beanbag as he gaped, horrified, at the blotched despair on the older boy's face. 'Matt...'

'What?'

'No.' He blinked back his own tears. 'I haven't.'

'Well, thank Merlin for that,' Matthew glared back, before biting down another retort as he watched Greg hiding beneath his fringe, shivering despite the August heat. 'You must think I'm an absolute idiot.' He continued without waiting for a reply. 'Well, you're right.' He pushed himself up into a sitting position. 'I _am_ hiding something, and it's something I should tell you,' he paused, feeling his cheeks blushing red, 'I just don't know how I should start...'

Greg didn't answer, instead keeping his nervous stare fixed on the other boy's face.

'How about with your first question?' Matthew asked, rhetorically. 'How come a third-year ended up as captain?' He sighed, as the memories of the last twelve months flooded back into his mind. 'I'll tell you, mate, I'll tell you _everything_ , I promise,' he glanced around the room, 'but not here.' He shivered, grabbing for his own t-shirt and pulling it back on, before watching Greg do the same thing. 'Let's go down to my room.'


	3. House Points

_3_ _ **House Points**_

Matthew stretched out on his bed, gazing through his bedroom window at the Haldon Hills in the middle distance. He chanced a glance at Greg, who sat rigidly on the black leather of a swivel chair beside the older boy's desk, before turning back to the window. 'I never thought I'd talk to anyone about this,' Matthew admitted, shaking his head slowly. 'Tell me if you don't want to hear any more,' he looked back at his friend. 'Tell me if you want to go home.'

Greg managed a thin smile. 'It's my world as well now. I want to know what happened,' he whispered.

'Alright,' Matthew nodded, shutting his eyes as he remembered his own first day at Hogwarts. 'The first thing you need to know is about the Houses,' he began. 'It's not like a normal school, where they're all supposed to be the same size, and equal to each other. At Hogwarts, you get sorted based on who you are,' he sighed.

'If you're brave, then you're supposed to end up in Gryffindor. If you're clever, then you go to Ravenclaw, hard workers get Hufflepuff, and then there's Slytherin...' he hesitated. 'Slytherins are supposed to be cunning and ambitious,' he looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom, 'but ask anyone in any of the other Houses, and they'd tell you we're selfish, bigoted Dark wizard scum.' Matthew sighed, looking back at his friend as the colour slipped from the younger boy's face.

'I suppose I should tell you why,' Matthew continued. 'Seven years ago, the wizarding world was at war. A Dark wizard called Voldemort, real _scum_ ,' he spat the name, 'tried to take down the whole world – the newspapers, the government, the school... everything. He nearly damn well managed it as well, but Hogwarts stood up to him, and they fought him. The final battle was in the school: the corridors, the classrooms, the hall, the grounds – everywhere.' He shook his head. 'Students died defending their school... defending it from an old gang of Slytherins who thought all that mattered was how pure your blood was.'

'Were they _all_ Slytherins?' Greg asked.

Matthew answered with a forlorn nod. 'Pretty much,' he winced. 'Now none of the new first-years want to be in Slytherin if they can help it, so it just ends up being the real tossers... and new kids who just don't know any better.'

'Like you?' Greg ventured, and Matthew didn't argue with his friend's conclusion. 'How does all of that make a difference to what House you're in, though?' The eleven-year-old continued.

'The Sorting Hat.' Matthew sighed. 'It's a really ancient piece of magic: you put it on, and it looks inside your mind,' he recalled his first year. 'It told me I was hungry to prove myself as a leader, and Slytherin would give me the opportunity to do just that.' He shook his head. 'So, like an idiot, I was dead keen to be sorted there. I didn't know a thing about the War.'

'It was right about being a leader, though, wasn't it?' Greg deduced. 'How many other Houses had a third-year captain?'

'How many other Houses got beat 660-10?' Matthew answered back sharply, before apologising as he heard his own retort. 'I wonder who'll be captain this year...' He wondered aloud. 'They'll find out today in their letter, I guess. I hope they do a better job than me.'

'How do you know it won't be you?' Greg challenged his friend.

'After _that_ match?' Matthew blinked. 'Are you out of your mind? Would a football manager keep his job if his team got a hammering like that from their biggest rivals?' He asked. 'Imagine if City lost 10-0 to Plymouth.'

'Have you looked at your letter yet?'

'No, but...'

'But what?'

'Fine.' Matthew shook his head, pushing himself up from the bed to retrieve his own parchment from beside the front door. 'All it'll tell me is my book list for next year,' he shrugged as he headed down the stairs, returning moments later with the envelope. 'There you are,' he shook out its contents onto his bed. 'Letter, book list, nothing else. If I was captain, I would have got a badge.'

'You've already got the badge.'

Matthew rolled his eyes, before lifting one of the sheets of paper up from his bedsheets. 'Dear Mr Sawyer,' he began to read. 'Welcome back... Kings Cross... Hogsmeade... O.W.L. subjects...' he skimmed. 'Quidditch...' Matthew swore, letting go of the parchment, which floated down slowly towards the bedroom floor. 'You were right.' He gazed into his friend's eyes. 'Wow.'

'Well done, mate,' Greg smiled.

'You won't say that when you're in another House and you're screaming at me from the stands to fall off my broom.' Matthew shook his head.

'What if I'm not in another House?'

'You'll be in another House,' Matthew picked up his letter again, re-reading the book list. 'You're a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff. Not a Slytherin. You won't want to talk to me... no one would let you talk to me, anyway.'

Greg stared back at his friend. 'You said Hogwarts was brilliant,' he spoke into the middle of the bedroom, rather than talking to the older boy.

'It is,' Matthew answered, slowly, 'but it's not just as simple as that. Yeah, some people are idiots and you don't always get your own way, but it's like that everywhere, isn't it?' He turned away. 'Even if we stop being friends, you'll still have a great time.'

'I'm not going to stop being your friend,' Greg insisted, 'even if I am in a different House, so what?'

'You don't understand,' Matthew smiled, wryly, 'but thanks, anyway. I guess we can still be friends until September, at least.' He shook himself, pushing up onto his feet. 'Come on, we've got to send our replies back... and I need to write to Oscar. You can use my owl.'

Oscar Symons smiled as his keen eyes picked out he long, slow wingbeat of a familiar bird sloping towards him through the late evening sky. 'Here, Charon,' he called softly. 'Here, girl.' He held out his right arm and watched the owl swoop downwards, delivering the paper in its talons down into the boy's hand.

 _Hey Ossie,_

 _I guess you've got your letter today? Have you seen the book list? I don't like the look of that Arithmancy book._

 _You'll never believe it, but one of the other kids in Chudleigh got a letter too. He's starting his first year in September so we're going to go to Diagon Alley on the 31st of August and stay over at the Leaky Cauldron before getting the train._

 _They also made me captain of Quidditch again. I guess they think we can't do any worse than last year!_

 _See you soon,_

 _Matt_

The fourteen-year-old grinned, sitting down on the warm metal of the of a wrought iron bench, squatting in the last rays of sunlight that crossed the paving slabs that tiled his family's patio.

'I told him he'd still be captain,' Oscar spoke quietly to the tawny owl beside him as the bird pecked absently at the scraps of grass between the tiled floor. 'I knew they'd never expect us to win anything with that team.' He reached into the pockets of his corduroy shorts for the cold green metal of the badge he'd been carrying around since opening his own letter that morning. 'School Prefect,' Oscar read to himself. 'Wait until Matt hears about this.' He ran his other hand over the brushed fringe of his dull blond hair. 'Wait until _Kevin_ hears about this,' he spat the second name. 'Don't go anywhere Charon, I'll be back in a moment.'

He ducked back through the open glass door that led from the patio into the Symons family's conservatory and onwards into the sprawl of their detached house, before emerging moments later with a spiral-bound notebook and biro.

 _To Matt,_

 _Thanks for writing to me. I told you you'd be Quidditch Captain again – who else were they going to pick? Kevin?!_

 _I've got something else that will make that idiot even more jealous, though – a Prefect's badge! I wonder what he'll do when he finds out?_

 _I'll try and get my parents to take me to London on the 31st and stay at the Leaky Cauldron with you._

 _OS_

He pulled an almost-empty packet of cooked ham from his other trouser pocket, and tossed the remnants of the meat to Charon. Watching the owl devour the food hungrily, he slipped the letter into an envelope that had been concealed within the notepad, before tying his message onto the bird's legs as it finished its meal.

'Thanks, Charon,' Oscar nodded as the bird squawked amiably before setting off on its return trip from the leaves of Berkshire to the Devon foothills. 'One more week to go.'

Greg closed the hard-bound cover of his copy of the _Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_ and stretched out across the soft mattress which lay on top of his wooden bunk. He propped himself up against one of the pillows, turning his attention to the two other boys who shared the top floor room at the Leaky Cauldron inn.

'Snap!' Matthew called out, quickly turning his head away from the card game in front of him, before looking back to see his best friend's face and chest covered in dirty soot.

Oscar shut his eyes, running his hands over his face and brushing himself partially clean. 'Merlin...' He shook his head. 'Why do I keep playing this stupid game with you?'

Matthew laughed. 'Why don't you play Greg instead, maybe you'd beat him?'

'No chance!' Greg retorted, quickly. 'I don't want to end up looking like that!'

Oscar stood up, hurrying across to the sink that was bolted onto the wall of the en-suite shower room. 'Good call, mate,' he muttered, before the rest of his words drowned under the rush of a cold tap.

'Not even just one game?' Matthew grinned.

' _No!_ ' Greg laughed as he emphasised his answer. 'I'm not stupid, Matt.'

'Maybe he might end up Slytherin,' Oscar brushed his hand across the fringe of his short blond hair as he returned to the boys' shared bedroom. 'You know what they say about always looking after yourself?'

'Or being selfish pricks?' Matthew remembered one of the other Houses' interpretations of the Slytherin trait of self-preservation.

'Discretion's the better part of valour, right?' Oscar sat down on the bed beside Greg's feet. 'No point in doing something when you're just going to get a hiding, is there?'

'No,' Greg shrugged. 'I guess not.'

'So what House do you reckon you're gonna end up in, then?' Oscar asked.

'I don't know,' Greg stared down at the rash of freckles that lay scattered over his ribcage. 'I don't think it will be Ravenclaw...' He avoided the other boy's eyes as he answered. 'Gryffindor sounds like it's a bit, well, mad – and Matthew keeps trying to put me off Slytherin. I guess it's probably going to be the other one.'

'You mean Hufflepuff?' Oscar laughed, good-naturedly. 'So memorable you didn't even know what it was called?' He pushed up from the bed again, trotting over to his own bunk for the night. 'What's Matt putting him off Slytherin for, then?' He kicked out gently at his friend's tanned shoulder, ruffling the mass of straight brown hair that hid the other boy's neck.

'Three guesses, Ossie.' Matthew stared, witheringly, back at the other fourth-year. 'Seven years of bull...'

'You're such a little ray of sunshine, aren't you?' Oscar rolled his eyes, nudging his friend even more firmly with the base of his foot. 'So how's it ever supposed to change if we never get any of the first-years who we should get? You know who we'll get left with – _Kevin's little brother_. That'll really help the image, won't it?'

'Who's Kevin?' Greg didn't give his neighbour a chance to answer back.

Matthew looked up at his friend before answering the younger boy. 'Kevin Brand... the _other_ fourth-year Slytherin. The reason people think we're all spoilt brats.' He sighed. 'Imagine the kid at primary school who always had the best of everything, always had the newest games console when it came out, the latest football boots.'

'Then make him twice as annoying, and make sure he thinks that everyone else is dirt cause they haven't got the same amount of cash,' Oscar joined in with the abuse. 'Don't forget that he's got servants and butlers at home to do all his work for him, so he expects everyone else to wait on him every minute of the day.'

'Fat chance,' Matthew snorted.

'Merlin, I can't wait until he sees my Prefect's badge,' Oscar allowed himself a smile at the idea. 'Mr I've-got-everything... haven't got _this_ , have you?'

Matthew joined in with his friend's laughter. 'I still can't believe you're gonna be a prefect in the fourth year. I always thought it was just fifth, sixth and seventh years.'

'Says the third-year Quidditch Captain,' Oscar shot back. 'Well...' he paused for a moment. 'I always guessed it was because there weren't any Slytherin boys in the fifth year.'

'I suppose,' the other fourth-year cocked his head, 'it makes sense if you put it like that.'

'I look forward to taking points off Kevin...' Oscar allowed his mind to wander again. 'He'll love that, won't he?'

'But...' Greg interrupted, 'won't that stop you winning the House Cup?'

'Oh, self-interest again,' Oscar grinned, before answering seriously. 'Nah, it won't make the slightest difference, mate.' He shook his head. 'We've got about as much chance of winning that as the Cannons have of winning the league next season.'

Greg stared blankly back at the older boy.

'Oh, Matt, you haven't told him the Cannons are any good, have you? Well... think of it like Wales and the football World Cup – _no chance_.'

This time Greg laughed at the simile. 'You never told me you supported a crap team, Matt.'

'Says you, Exeter City boy.' Matthew grunted. 'What division are they in, again?'

'Oh, drop it, Matt,' Oscar interrupted. 'When your Cannons finish somewhere that isn't bottom of the league, then you can have a go at someone else's team. Anyway,' he continued, 'isn't he just like you – supporting his local team?'

'Ah, I guess...' Matthew finished cleaning up the remains of the game of Exploding Snap from the wooden floorboards, before hoisting himself onto the sofa that would double as his bed that night.

'Well, I'd have you in Slytherin,' Oscar changed the subject, 'but it's not down to me, is it? We'll all find out tomorrow.' He lifted his wand from the side of his bed, and pointed it towards the lamp alongside. 'Nox.' The room fell dark, leaving Greg's eyes open as he stared upwards, thinking about the day that lay ahead.


	4. Day One

'I guess that's one good thing about being in Slytherin,' Matthew grinned as he watched a pale boy turn even whiter at the sight of the green and silver crest on his trunk. 'Everyone else leaves you alone on the train.' He sighed, planting himself into the corner of a compartment and hauling his trunk into the space between the two benches within.

'Aren't you going to put it on the shelf?' Greg began to question his neighbour, pointing up towards the steel luggage racks that ran above the seats, but Matthew shook his head.

'No point,' he answered. 'Like I said, no one's going to sit next to us. There's plenty of space to spread out.'

'He's right,' Oscar agreed. 'The only other kid who won't look at us and get away as fast as he can is Seb Burns.' He shoved his own trunk beside Matthew's, before dropping down opposite his friend.

'Is he Slytherin, too?' Greg asked cautiously, leaving his own luggage on the ground alongside the older boys' belongings, and sitting next to the boy who was about to answer him.

'Yeah,' Matthew nodded. 'Second... third year. He was keeper on the team last year.'

'Against Gryffindor?'

Matthew nodded, and Greg didn't say anything else. This was the first time he had mentioned the record-breaking match since his friend had told him the story, and the memory of their argument in the attic still stung.

'He took it worse than any of us,' Oscar answered the question that he knew the younger boy hadn't dared to ask. 'It was his first game for the House team.'

Greg swallowed, remembering the photograph beside his own bed from the football match that his school team had lost so heavily. That had felt bad enough, he mused, but to concede fifty times... 'What about the others on the team?'

Matthew snorted. 'The beaters were only in the team cause they were seventh-years, and at least big enough to hit the bludgers properly. They've both graduated now. As for the other two chasers... well, they were bloody useless.' He shook his head.

'But they must have been the only other kids in Slytherin who could fly a broom without falling off...' Oscar rolled his eyes.

'Most of the time, anyway.' A voice in the doorway interrupted the boys' conversation.

'Seb!' Matthew shouted a greeting, and the newcomer, a tall boy with neat black hair that jumped up at the front, reddened as he returned it quietly.

'Hi, Seb.' Greg offered as the fourth boy sat down, opposite him and alongside Oscar. 'I'm Greg.'

The tall boy nodded. 'Hi.'

'Greg lives in my village,' Matthew offered an explanation for the first-year's presence.

'Alright,' Seb nodded again.

'Seb doesn't say much,' Oscar smiled, nudging the newcomer, who was taller than him by several inches despite being a year younger, in the ribs. The third-year shook his head, opening his trunk and hunting for one of his new textbooks.

'See?' Matthew half-smiled, crossing his legs as he rested them on the roof of his trunk and turning to stare out of the carriage's window, watching as the city of London faded away into Hertfordshire countryside beyond the glass.

As Matthew had promised, the presence of the Slytherin luggage proved a guarantee of peace for the duration of the train journey, and as night fell on a day filled with aimless conversation and scattered sleep, the two oldest children got to their feet, throwing robes over their casual dress.

'Prefects' meeting,' Oscar explained, holding out an arm to prevent Greg from following them.

'But...'

'Quidditch Captains are invited too,' Matthew explained, heading for the compartment door but pausing moments before he closed it. 'See you at the Sorting, Greg. Good luck.' He gave the eleven-year-old a brief wave, before turning to follow his best friend along the corridor. 'I hope that's it, Os. I hope I don't see him again until Christmas.'

'Oh, come on...' Oscar glanced back over his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

'If he ended up in Slytherin, it would be our fault. Our fault for giving him the idea. You know what it will be like in lessons. In History of Magic...'

'For Merlin's sake, Matt,' Oscar stopped suddenly, turning on his heel to stare back at his best friend. 'It's not your fault Voldemort was in the same House as you. Being a Slytherin doesn't make you a Death Eater, no matter how many Gryffie idiots tell you that. Now get over it.'

Oscar turned again, his black robe sending a gust of wind across Matthew's face as the prefect strode off down the corridor, and after a brief moment the Quidditch Captain followed him.

'Robes.' Back in the compartment, one of Seb's rare words caught Greg's attention.

'What?' The first-year jerked his head around.

'Put your robes on,' the third-year, already changed like the two other passengers, explained. 'We're nearly at Hogwarts.'

'Oh,' Greg swallowed, suddenly remembering the stories of the Sorting that Oscar and Matthew had told him over the last few days. 'Thanks.'

'If you get the chance, don't pick Slytherin.' It was the first time that the older boy had mentioned Houses all journey. 'Unless you want it to feel like the world's against you – because it will be – and the rest of the school will hate your guts, just because of one word from one stupid hat.' He snapped his head back to the pages of his book, leaving Greg's imagination to fill the final leg of his journey.

Try as he might, Greg couldn't push the Sorting away from his thoughts as the train ground to a halt at Hogsmeade station. Even the sight of the half-giant Hagrid and the fleet of magical boats that cruised across the Black Lake to the stone keep of the castle could only distract the eleven-year-old for brief moments. Who was right? Oscar, or Matt and Seb? Did he want to Sort into Slytherin? Did he have any choice in the matter? Why the hell had he ever agreed to any of this?

Greg followed a knot of forty or so first-years between two of the four long tables spread over the Great Hall, his eyes fixed on the fastener on the cloak of the boy in front of him. Oblivious to the enchanted ceiling that reflected the cloudless sky above, or the sparse Slytherin table to his far left, Greg paced mechanically down the hall. Coming to a halt, alongside the other eleven-year-olds, at the front of the room, he gazed in stunned awe at the battered old hat on the table ahead of him as it twisted into life.

 _It's been seven long years since the fateful battle_

 _When Old Man Tom heard his death rattle_

 _And now a new generation makes its way_

 _Through lessons to learn, and games to play_

 _Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw_

 _I hold the knowledge of the founding four_

 _It is my task, my raison d'être_

 _To see the founders' wishes are met_

 _Gryffindor brave, headstrong and quick_

 _Hufflepuff at your side, through thin or thick_

 _Ravenclaw, where thoughts come to fruition_

 _Slytherin cunning, full of ambition_

 _Lion, eagle, badger, or snake_

 _That is my decision to make_

 _I am The Sorting Hat, my dears_

 _I've been here for near one thousand years_

 _So come on children, sit beneath my brim_

 _Let me see your secrets within_

A scattered round of applause died around the hall, and a round-faced woman stepped forwards beside the hat, a scroll of parchment in her hand. 'When I call your name,' she announced, 'you will try on the hat, and be sorted into your House.' She cleared her throat. 'Abercrombie, Ciaran.'

Greg watched absently as a nervous-looking sandy-haired boy was sorted into Gryffindor, and 'Absolom, Margaret' became a Ravenclaw.

'Bannan, Michael.' As the third name was called, Greg realised with a jolt that the sorting was proceeding in alphabetical order – which only meant one thing for him: that he would soon be next.

'Bennett, Gregory.' The eleven-year-old swore as he heard his name being read out, loudly enough for a boy with floppy white-blond hair standing beside him to turn around and grin as he overheard. Greg tried to smile nervously back, but as he edged towards the centre of the stage he honestly had no idea of the expression upon his own face.

'Ah! Fresh blood!' Greg jolted as the sharp voice of the sorting hat sliced through his thoughts. 'The first in a new magical line... or perhaps a re-awakening of old talents?'

'W... What's going on?' Greg's mind stammered back. 'Who are you? How can you tell?'

'Didn't you listen to the song, boy?' The voice grumbled. 'Ancient magic, the founders of Hogwarts, etc, etc?'

'No, I...' Greg began to argue, but the magical voice cut him off again.

'You were afraid,' it concluded. 'Afraid of Slytherin, like so many before you. Yet,' the hat continued before the boy could complain, 'I sense a part of you that is drawn towards Slytherin. A part that desires opportunity and craves recognition... and to be with your two friends, whose stories you have heard so often this last week.'

'Are the stories true?' Greg mustered, 'about the Dark wizards in Slytherin?'

'Oh, they are,' chuckled the hat. 'You see, boy, if one is not careful, then ambition leads to tyranny, and cunning leads to corruption.' It paused. 'Yet... so too can courage lead to arrogance, intellect to snobbery and loyalty to subservience. A wise man, a great Headmaster of this very school, once said that it was not our abilities – but our choices – that made us who we truly were. The Death Eaters did not all come from Slytherin.'

'Am I a Slytherin?' Greg heard his mind ask.

'You have the qualities to succeed there.'

'If I belong there, then put me there.' Greg's heart began to pound against his ribcage, and he felt his breathing grow shallower as his throat tightened up.

'SLYTHERIN!' The hat announced its choice to the school, and as the teacher lifted it from Greg's head, the first-year hurried over to his thinly-populated House table, settling down beside Matthew and opposite Oscar for the second time that day.

'Greg...' Matthew began, open-mouthed. 'How did the hat...'

'Oh, shut up, Sawyer.' Oscar interrupted with a grin, holding out an arm to high-five the new arrival. 'The hat tries to choose what's best for whoever's wearing it; you know that.'

'I told it to put me here,' Greg told the other blond-haired boy. 'You were right... the things you said at the Leaky Cauldron. It said that I would fit in here – that there would be opportunities for me. I _know_ you're not all Dark wizards.'

'You're bloody stubborn sometimes, Greg,' Matthew groaned.

'That's Slytherin for you,' Oscar grinned, before lowering his voice as another name was called to the Sorting Hat.

'Brand, Lucas.'

'That's _Kevin's_ brother,' Oscar whispered pointedly into Greg's ear, watching as a stony-faced boy with unremarkable red-brown hair sat down beneath the brim of the hat. 'He's the other boy in the fourth year...' Oscar angled his head along the table, indicating a child who looked similar to the boy on stage at that moment – only with a more pointed chin, and a facial expression that seemed like a permanent sneer.

'Wonder if he'll turn out like _that_ ,' Matthew shook his head. 'He looks almost the same...'

'SLYTHERIN!'

'I guess we get to find out.' Oscar led a perfunctory round of applause for the second new Slytherin, who shuffled nervously onto the bench alongside Greg. 'More than we got last year already!' The fourth-year grinned as Lucas took his seat. In fact, the previous year's record was well beaten, as by the end of the ceremony, two more children had taken their places at the green and silver table.

'Hey,' Oscar had tried to greet the third boy, Isaac Davies, short and brown-haired with glasses atop his freckled face, but the newcomer, head slumped between his arms, wouldn't answer.

There would be no such difficulty in starting conversation with the fourth first-year, however, as he sat down opposite Lucas with a wide grin on his face.

'Hey, I'm Theo Forrest,' he smiled, and Greg recognised him as being the blond-haired boy who had overheard his bad language in the queue to be sorted.

'I noticed,' Oscar reached over Isaac's limp body to shake the first-year's hand, 'Sprout just read it out to everyone.'

Theo laughed, turning to offer his hand to Greg and Lucas. 'Why did you swear when she called your name?'

'Don't know,' Greg blushed, shrugging his shoulders. He remembered something Matthew had said the previous week. 'I guess it was the only thing that I could say...'

'It's because Matty's been scaring him with stories about Slytherin all week,' Oscar glanced across at the Quidditch Captain as he spoke.

'You knew him already? Cool,' Theo answered him own obvious question. 'Your name was Gregory, right?'

'It's just Greg.'

'Okay,' the blond-haired boy smiled again, and Greg couldn't stop himself from grinning back. There was no way, he told himself as he watched the boy greet Lucas, that Theo was a Dark wizard.

Much of the conversation at that evening meal was dominated by Theo's excited voice, as Oscar and Matthew answered his questions about the magical world. The Hogwarts letter had been as much of a surprise for him as it had been for Greg, and the eleven-year-old, who had been at a private school in London, was eager to find out as much as he could about his new surroundings.

The other new Slytherins, however, were far quieter. Lucas seemed to prefer to listen to the others' conversations, and – despite the combined efforts of Oscar and Theo – Isaac had barely opened his mouth, even to eat, by the time that the Headmistress Minerva McGonagall called on the prefects to lead the first-years to their new dormitories.

'The Slytherin dorms are down here,' Oscar, the newest prefect, appeared to be the only pupil taking his job seriously as the four new boys followed him onto a stone stairway that twisted around below the Great Hall.

'How cool is this?' Theo nudged Greg's elbow as they led the other two first-years along a corridor that grew lower and wider as it wound back on itself, broadening out beneath the castle before drawing to an abrupt close beside a wall of black marble. 'It's a dead end...'

'Really?' Oscar glanced back, a sly grin edging across his face. 'Are you sure?' The prefect reached forward, touching his wand against the marble. 'Ordovicius.'

'Wow...' Theo's mouth fell open as he watched the bricks melt back into an arched doorway, and a snake-headed handle grew from the mortar. 'Awesome.'

'Remember the password,' Oscar reminded the others as he eased the doorway open, showing their way into a lowlit chamber. A gentle fire crackled in one corner, more for light than heat as the warmth of the late summer evening lingered. Around the room, black leather wrapped around stools and sofas, clustered in little groups underneath lanterns that gave a lustre to the walls on which they hung. 'It can get cold in the winter if you're waiting there for somebody.'

Greg laughed, before a thought occurred to him. 'What about the other Houses? What if they found out?''

Oscar snorted. 'You think they'd want to come in here, and risk the wrath of the Death Eaters?' He rolled his eyes. 'No, I think we're safe from that.' The prefect beckoned the first-year boys towards a sofa that squatted beside the fireplace, and pulled a stool across the tiled floor to sit facing the new children. 'Welcome to the Slytherin dungeon.'

'Cool,' Theo grinned, 'thanks.'

'Yeah,' Greg echoed, quickly. 'Thanks, Oscar.'

The prefect nodded. 'I just...' he hesitated, pausing. 'I just thought,' he bit his bottom lip. 'You all must have heard stories about Slytherin,' he offered, limply, 'and I doubt they've ever been much good.'

As Oscar spoke, Isaac sat bolt upright at one end of the sofa, and though Greg could hear the other first-year's teeth grinding beside him, neither eleven-year-old spoke.

'They don't have to be true,' Oscar struggled to keep eye contact with the new children as he spoke. 'Not if you don't want them to be.' He swallowed. 'Just because we are in Slytherin doesn't mean we have to act like those stories, to act like people think we're like.' He brushed the back of his forearm over his forehead. 'No one else will look out for us,' he exhorted, standing up. 'I know Sprout always says your House should be like your family. Just for once, why can't we manage to get along like that?'

'What...?' Theo glanced at Greg. 'What does he mean?'

'I'll tell you later,' Greg whispered, as Oscar lashed out in frustration, shunting the stool across the polished floor.

'Forget it, I suppose it'll never happen.' He shook his head. 'Your dorms are down there.' The prefect pointed down a corridor that led away from the main common room. 'First floor down the staircase, then first door on the left.'

'What does he mean about the stories?' Theo asked Greg again later that evening. Isaac and Lucas had pulled the cotton hangings around their bunks tightly closed, leaving the two blond boys sitting together upon Greg's bed. 'About what people think we're like?'

Greg sighed, leaning back and feeling the cool of the iron bedhead push against his shoulder blades. 'I don't know,' he grimaced. 'Well, I think I know a bit, but not everything.' He tried to recall the stories that Greg and Matthew had shared with him during the summer holidays. 'It just sounds like we get bullied,' Greg found himself staring down at his pyjama shorts, 'because of something a few idiots did, nothing to do with us.' He looked up towards Theo, to find for the first time that the other boy wasn't smiling back.

'Why did no one tell me that before?' Theo growled, pushing himself up from the bunk and taking a handful of thunderous steps across the room to a window that looked out directly onto the grey-green shore of the great lake.

'That's what Matty said,' Greg offered into the silence. 'All the House gets any more are the real tossers and new kids who don't know any better.'

'Well, I guess that makes you a tosser, then!' Theo snapped, glaring over his shoulder before striding the short distance back to his own bunk and snapping the curtains shut around himself.

'I guess you'd know all about being a tosser!' Greg spat back, yelling upwards as he sank down onto the cool of the bedsheets. His eyes fell shut, and in that moment he understood Matthew's warnings, both about Slytherin House and about the fact that a day would come when he would feel like he needed to use a certain word.

He whispered the swear word to himself, replaying the handful of hours since he'd stepped from the ramshackle boat onto the rocky shore of the castle. 'Maybe this is what Slytherin turns us into,' he shivered, pulling the thick duvet over his chest, 'maybe that's what happens to people when they get treated like this.'

Greg blinked, willing his eyes to remain free from any tears as he remembered how the boy whom he'd thought most likely to be his friend had called him a tosser. How pale Matthew's face had seemed as he joined his neighbour on the Slytherin table. How uncharacteristically tense Oscar had been a few short minutes ago as he spoke of the history of the House. How frightened Isaac Davies had looked all evening, ever since the moment the Sorting Hat had called that fateful word.

Greg kicked the base of his heel against the mattress on his bed, swearing again as his conversation repeated inside his mind. Why had he _asked_ to be placed here? The hat had said something about choices, rather than abilities, that showed who someone really was. He swallowed, considering the language he had chosen in the last few minutes, and felt himself blush at the memory.

'Th... Theo?' Greg called out hopefully into the lantern light of the dormitory. 'Theo,' he repeated himself. 'I know you're still awake.'

An angry grunt from the other boy's end of the room was enough to confirm that Greg was right.

'I just wondered...' Greg coughed as he searched for the words he wanted to use. 'What did the Sorting Hat say to you? What did it say about Slytherin?' He waited for an answer, but when nothing came he kept on talking. 'It said to me that our choices were more important than our abilities. Just being in Slytherin doesn't make us bad people.' He continued, trying to convince himself as much as to persuade Theo. 'We're in this House because we're ambitious, because we're cunning... because we want to succeed. That doesn't have to be bad, does it?' Greg's question drifted into the empty quiet of the dormitory, and no answer came in reply.

A handful of metres away, Theo pulled his own duvet tightly over himself, blinking back the tears that beat against his eyelids as he heard Greg talk.

'I guess you'd know all about being a tosser!' The other boy's insult echoed in his brain as he remembered his own conversation with the Hat.

'An appetite to lead,' it had uttered, 'and ambition to make your mark on the magical world.' It had sounded so promising a few short hours ago, but as he listened to the other boy's stories about a wizard named Lord Voldemort, the language seemed so much more sinister. 'One House more than any other will provide these opportunities,' the Hat had offered, 'so long as you are willing to face the challenges it will present. You will certainly require a strong mind to overcome its past.'

He rolled over, pressing his eyes deep into his pillow as the meaning of the Hat's words, which he had dismissed as dramatic nonsense only hours before, crystallised in his mind. He repeated the last two sentences into the dormitory before the silence descended once again.

'Greg?'

'Theo?'

The two children talked at the same time, their words catching on one another, and another awkward quiet descended before Theo spoke again.

'Sorry,' he swallowed. 'Sorry for calling you a tosser.'

'Same,' Greg answered. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just...' He tailed off.

'Scared?'

'Yeah.' Greg heard Theo pull open the hangings of his bed, and pushed himself up against his headboard as the other boy walked over. 'Sorry,' he held out his hand, ignoring Theo's reddened eyes.

'That's okay,' Theo took Greg's hand, managing a weak smile as he did so. 'Thanks, mate.'

'I think I know what the Hat meant when it spoke to you,' Greg offered.

'Me too,' Theo replied, 'and I think I know what Oscar meant, too. I think we should go talk to him.'

'Good idea,' Greg agreed, 'let's go.'

'Oscar?' Greg called out as he hurried up the wide staircase, back to the common room. A single figure sat, slumped against the jet black of one of the armchairs beside the fireplace, dejectedly charming scraps of parchment to burn into embers in front of him. 'Oscar, is that you?'

'W... what? What is it?' Startled, the figure looked up, hiding his wand away as he confirmed his identity to the first-years. 'Greg?'

'Yeah,' the eleven-year-old answered, his voice calm and quiet. 'Do you mind if we talk to you?'

'Okay,' Oscar levered himself upright in the armchair, leaning forwards as the two younger children dropped down onto footstools between the prefect and the fireplace. 'Are you both alright?' He added, almost as an afterthought, suddenly remembering his role.

'We're fine,' Greg answered. 'It's just that we've been talking...' he glanced towards his friend, 'and we want to know what you really meant – about Houses, and family – and why it's not the same for Slytherin.'

Theo nodded in agreement. 'We think we know – well, sort of,' he hesitated. 'Me and Greg just had a stupid argument downstairs, for no reason.' He looked down at his feet. 'It's things like that, isn't it?'

Oscar nodded. 'It's why I know Matt didn't want you here.' He took a deep breath. 'Look around the room,' he sighed. 'I've been sat here on my own since you two went down to your dorm. Did anyone come and talk to me? Did anyone care?'

'What about Matthew...?' Greg's jaw dropped.

'Quidditch Captains' meeting,' the prefect answered, 'but there shouldn't be just _one_ person! The other Houses call us selfish pricks – and they're right,' he reflected. 'It's all very well looking out for yourself, but sometimes you need someone else. Nobody else here gives a crap.' He swore, before looked directly at Theo. 'Sorry.'

'It doesn't matter,' the first-year smiled. 'I know worse than that.'

'You'll laugh about anything, won't you?' Oscar grinned. 'So, what did you want to ask me about, then?'

'Why do you think Slytherin is like this?' Greg asked. 'Is it what all Slytherins are like anyway, or is it just what they become?'

'It's what they become. Look at Seb.' Oscar replied quickly, using the third-year as an example. 'He was like you are – excited, looking forwards to school – but now...'

'Is it because of the game, do you think?'

'A bit,' Oscar shrugged, before noticing the blank look on Theo's face. 'Quidditch, last year,' he explained, 'against Gryffindor... we lost 660-10. He was the keeper.'

'Oh.' Now it was the first-year's turn to swear.

'That wasn't all, though.' Oscar continued. 'Greg, you know he never talks, but it wasn't always like that. He's just got quieter and quieter... Lessons are bad enough when there's two of us. I can't imagine what it's like when it's only one.'

'Why...?' Greg asked, aimlessly

'You'll just get picked on,' Theo looked down as he answered, 'whatever you do,' he sighed. 'So you just hide.'

'Yeah, exactly,' Oscar nodded. 'Wait...' He looked directly at Theo. 'How do you know?'

'It doesn't matter,' the eleven-year-old shivered. 'I just guessed.'

Oscar glanced at Greg, raising his eyebrows as he heard the other boy's answer. 'Whatever – you can't let that happen to each other,' he insisted. 'You have to stick together, help each other out... cause you _know_ no one else will.'

'I know,' Theo still stared at the floor, 'if you're different, then you're on your own.'

'What happened, mate?' Greg reached an arm out onto his friend's shoulder as the other boy fixed his eyes on his own reflection, staring back from the tiles. 'Was it your old school?'

'It doesn't matter,' Theo repeated, pushing the loose strands of his long fringe behind his ears. 'Really, it doesn't.'

'It's like when everyone else in the room is talking about something and you're not involved,' Oscar recalled. 'Like there's an invisible fence drawn around them all, and you're on the outside. The only time you have something to do with the inside is when it gets thrown at you.'

Theo stared back at the prefect. 'What? How...?'

'I've been there too, don't forget. Every year.'

'Oh, God...' The first-year's head dropped again. 'I thought I'd got away from all that,' he murmured as the fringe of his hair fell over his eyelids. 'I was the only white kid in my class,' he explained.

'In London?' Greg asked, surprised.

'Yes,' Theo nodded slowly. 'I don't think they meant it all to end this way,' he sighed, 'but it did. I wasn't interested in the same things they were; I didn't have the same holidays... I just got left out. Then weird things started to happen – stuff I now know was bits of magic escaping – and the others started to pick on me because of it...'

'Oh,' Greg tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder for fraction of a second. 'Sorry, mate. We _won't_ let that happen again, I promise you. I promise I'll always stick up for you.'

'Thanks, Greg,' Theo made no effort to dry the single tear that had begun to trickle down his right cheek. 'Same here.'

'Well said,' Oscar smiled. 'What about the other two new kids? Do you think they'll join in, too?'

'I'm not sure,' Greg shrugged. 'Neither of them have really spoken to us yet.'


	5. History of Magic

'What's your first lesson?' Matthew sat down beside his neighbour at the near-empty breakfast table, peering over the younger boy's shoulder.

'Um... Friday...' the eleven-year-old ran his index finger over the fifth line of his timetable. 'Friday... we've got nothing first up – but then History of Magic at 10 o'clock.'

'What a start,' Matthew rolled his eyes.

'Do you know who it's with? Oscar followed his best friend to the table, inspecting the first-year's timetable more closely than his own. 'Urgh. Gryffindor.' The bottom of his nose wrinkled as he spoke. 'I bet one of them will be out looking for a fight, trying to prove how _brave_ they are.'

'Don't rise to them,' Matthew warned, spearing the end of a sausage with his knife. 'That's all they want, a reaction out of you.' He looked up as Isaac Davies entered the Great Hall, choosing to sit alone at the very far end of the table. 'Is he alright?'

Theo shrugged. 'He didn't say a single word to us all night.'

'That's probably a 'no', then, isn't it?' Oscar concluded, aloud. 'Have you spoken to him?'

Theo shook his head.

'How could we?' Greg answered for his friend. 'All he's done is lie in bed with the curtains shut. Even this morning – we haven't had a chance.'

'That's not normal,' Matthew grimaced. 'What about Kevin the Second?'

'Who?' Theo blinked.

'He means Lucas,' the other first-year explained. 'Kevin Brand's little brother.'

'Oh, right,' Theo started to nod, before quickly turning his gesture into a shake of the head. 'I've no idea,' he admitted. 'He talks about as much as Isaac.'

'It's probably better off that way,' Matthew grunted. 'It saves you from listening to the Brand family history ten times over.'

'He doesn't have to be like his brother,' Oscar warned. 'Just keep an eye on them – both of them,' he insisted. That first lesson will be all about the War, and Voldemort... and Slytherin.'

Greg and Theo were among the first children to arrive at Professor Binns' musty classroom, pushing open a creaky door before staking out a table in its rear right-hand corner.

'How bad can this be?' Theo wondered aloud as he watched Isaac and Lucas slide silently into the desk in front of them. 'What is anyone going to do in _class_?'

'Don't know, mate.' Greg shrugged. 'Whatever they say, I reckon me and you will be fine,' he glanced ahead, watching Isaac's chin slump onto the desk in front of him, and lowered his voice. 'I'm not sure about the other two, though.'

Very few students were perturbed by the teacher's first appearance through the blackboard at the front of the classroom, prepared as they had been by their friends and families for the ghost's entrance. 'Wizarding History,' he began, 'is one of the most important subjects you will study at Hogwarts. In the last century, our kind has fought three great wars: wars that should have been avoided – would have been avoided – had wizards better learned the lessons taught by history.'

'What, and stop Voldemort with a book?' A boy sitting in the opposite side of the classroom to the four Slytherins interrupted.

'You will raise your hand if you wish to speak,' Professor Binns chastised the boy, who was taller than most of the other children, and had short, black hair that was spiked forwards. 'You should also know that the results of an event – in this case Voldemort's Rising – are not the same as its causes. There were many things that led to the wars, a great many of which could have been prevented.'

The boy lifted his hand, and spoke again. 'What, do you mean like stopping anyone going into Slytherin?' He stared pointedly at the Slytherin children, and Greg and Theo both met his gaze.

'Is that the best you can do?' Greg snapped.

'Thank you, thank you.' The teacher raised his voice, breaking up the quarrel before it could gather any more momentum. 'This is not the place for petty House rivalries. 'As you all almost certainly know, Tom Marvolo Riddle – later known as Lord Voldemort – was a pupil at this school, and a member of Slytherin House.' Isaac hid his head underneath his hands as the ghost continued.

'Alongside his followers, known as _Death Eaters_ ,' the spiky-haired boy sneered at Greg as the professor used the phrase, 'Voldemort came close to seizing control of ultimate power in the wizarding world. To understand how – and why – he was allowed to do so, however, we must begin by looking more deeply into his history: and, correspondingly, the history of his school.'

'I don't understand how he can make a war sound so boring,' Theo complained as the lesson drew to a close, doodling aimless patterns on his sheet of parchment as the ghost droned onwards.

'At least it keeps that idiot quiet,' Greg hissed back, applying the finishing touches to a chart that summarised a lesson's worth of information about the four Houses. 'Oscar's right, too: there's _nothing_ here that says Slytherins have to be Dark wizards.' He shook his head. 'Do you think that's all he's got to say for himself? Close down Slytherin?'

'Dunno,' Theo shrugged, 'but I'd almost rather listen to him than to much more of this.'

Fortunately for Theo, the echo of the school bells quickly told the class that their lesson had come to an end. Slinging his belongings into a bag, he started for the exit, only to turn and wait for Greg to file his parchment tidily into his satchel.

'Come on, mate,' Theo tapped an imaginary watch on his wrist. 'Break time!'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'I want to be able to read this when we get set an essay about it,' he countered. 'Besides, it's not like we're going to run out of food on the Slytherin table, is it?' He fastened the bag and followed Isaac out of the classroom.

'Hey, Davies!' The spiky-haired Gryffindor boy stood in wait, accompanied by two other children: an equally tall girl with long, dark hair that dropped halfway down the back of her robes, and a much smaller boy with a pale, freckled face and drab, mousy hair. 'Holly tells me you'll be sleeping in the stable when you go home for Christmas.'

'Hey, Davies,' the other boy joined in as Isaac hurried away along the corridor. 'When do you get your Dark Mark?'

'Do you think you're funny?' Theo called out, drawing the Gryffindors' attention away from their terrified prey. 'Picking on him, three-on-one?'

'Oh, what's this?' The first boy scoffed. 'More little snakes, come slithering out?'

'Piss off,' Greg shot back.

'Or else what?' He pulled a wand from the inside of his robe pocket, jabbing it towards the Slytherin's throat.

'Or else you lose even more points than the five you've just lost for duelling in the corridor,' Oscar's firm voice cut through the air before Greg had the chance to think of a response. 'This,' the prefect snatched the wand from the boy's hand, 'stays in your pocket if you want to keep it.'

'As for you,' he clapped Greg on the shoulder, guiding the first-year away from the confrontation, 'watch your language.'

'But...' Greg stammered, 'I was sticking up for Isaac! Didn't you hear what they said?'

'Yes, mate,' Oscar replied, lowering his voice, 'but what else am I going to say with three baby Gryffindors listening? Now,' he led the two first-years through the doors of the Great Hall, 'where is Isaac?'

'He's not here,' Theo glanced quickly up and down the table. 'He must have gone back to the dungeon...'

'Come on,' Greg encouraged his friend, 'let's go.'

'Ordovicius!' Theo shouted breathlessly, touching his wand to the wall as he had seen Oscar do the previous evening, before hurrying through the doorway that emerged without giving the magic a second glance. 'Isaac!' he called out, scampering into the centre of the common room. 'Isaac!'

'He must be downstairs,' Greg concluded, leading down towards the dormitories and easing open the first-years' door. 'Isaac? Are you in here?'

The scarcely muffled sound of a boy's sobbing answered his question.

'Isaac? Are you alright?' Theo called out into the dormitory, before being silenced by a sharp nudge in his ribs. 'What was that for?' He hissed.

'What do you think?' Greg whispered back. 'Does it sound like he's alright?'

'Oh,' Theo realised. 'Sorry,' he apologised aloud, inching across the room towards the closed curtains that hid the other first-year boy.

'Isaac,' Greg continued, 'you don't have to listen to those idiots.' He sat down on his own bed, beside the other boy's concealed bunk.

'Go... go away!' Isaac's voice gasped. 'You don't understand! Leave me alone!'

'No,' Greg answered, 'you can't stay under there all day. You've got to come out soon, and I'm not going anywhere until you do.'

'Greg...' Theo tugged his friend's robes, cupping a hand over his mouth before he spoke. 'Are you sure? What about lunch?'

'Can you bring me some down?' Greg asked. 'We haven't got anything until...' he checked the timetable in the pocket of his robes, 'three o'clock. He can't stay there forever.' He settled down on top of his mattress, pulling the notes he'd taken in the previous lesson out of his bag.

'Alright,' Theo replied reluctantly, edging back towards the doorway. 'See you later.'

'I mean it, Isaac,' Greg repeated his promise as the dormitory door closed behind the other boy. 'I'm not going anywhere when you're still in there.' He continued, although he knew he wouldn't hear an answer. 'Oscar said last night that your House should be like your family, that we should look out for each other: well, he's right, and that's what I'm doing.'

Isaac didn't respond.

'So what if we're in Slytherin?' Greg's voice became more trenchant. 'There's nothing that says Slytherins have to be evil – just like there's nothing that says the other Houses have to be good. Look at what those Gryffindors said to you, just because you're in a different House.'

This time Isaac answered, but his voice was dry and quiet, drained of all of its energy. 'It's not just because of that,' he protested.

'So?' Greg responded. 'Just because you're in _Slytherin_? Why else would they be picking on you?'

'Because she's my sister.'

'Oh...' Now it was Greg's voice that lost its purpose. He swore, struggling to work out what the new information meant. 'So, if she said that, then it means your family is magical... and you must have grown up hearing everything bad about Slytherin.' Greg shook his head, before swearing again. 'I'm sorry, mate.'

Isaac grunted recognition, but said nothing more as the bedroom slid back into awkward silence.

'Like I said, though,' Greg spoke again, as much to fill the quiet as to persuade the other boy, 'you're in Slytherin now, but it doesn't have to mean the things you were told it used to.' He continued, remembering the arguments which had convinced himself and Theo the previous evening.

'I've known Matthew for ages, and he's always been my friend, even though he's three years older than me. Oscar's his best friend, and if Matthew trusts him then I do too. Anyway,' he pushed onwards, staring up at the ornate ceiling of the dormitory, not noticing that Isaac had opened his curtains, 'even if that wasn't true, I'd trust him anyway, cause he's looked after us all since we started. They're not Dark wizards, neither is Theo, and neither am I – and I bet you aren't one, either.'

'I'm not a Dark wizard,' Isaac answered Greg's unasked question, his voice almost pleading and his eyes still burning red. 'I just don't understand why I'm in Slytherin.'

'What did the Sorting Hat say to you?' Greg asked gently, pushing himself up to face the other boy.

'It said I needed to be away from my sister,' Isaac explained, staring down at his feet as he spoke. 'I told it I thought that was a good idea, and then it said it knew the perfect place for me to make a fresh start, and before I knew what was happening it just announced I was in Slytherin.'

'Well it's right about being away from your sister, I guess,' Greg offered.

'Yes, but...' Isaac had begun to argue when the sound of the dormitory door edging open silenced him as Theo burst back into the room.

'Greg, I got you some cake from the...' He tailed off, noticing the other boy's pale face. 'Oh,' he exclaimed. 'Hi.'

'Hi,' Isaac returned the greeting, mechanically.

'Isaac, this is Theo,' Greg introduced the other children. 'He's brought some cake for you, haven't you, Theo?'

'What?' Theo hesitated, before catching sight of his friend's sudden eyebrow-raised glare. 'Oh, right, yeah.' He split the serving in two, offering one piece to Isaac as he gave the other piece to Greg.

'Thank you,' Isaac whispered.

Theo nodded. 'That's okay.'

'Isaac's just been telling me his sister's in Gryffindor,' Greg continued, 'that was her outside Binns' classroom.'

'She doesn't like you much, does she?' Theo asked rhetorically, before moving on to another question. 'Are you twins, then?'

'No,' Isaac shook his head. 'She was born in September – she's 12 next week – but I wasn't born until August...'

'Oh, right,' Theo answered.

'He says the Hat told him he needed to get away from her,' Greg explained, 'and that's why it put him here.'

'It put me here because it said it would give me opportunities,' Theo added, before Greg shared his own story.

'I'm here pretty much because I wanted to be in the same House as Matt and Oscar.'

'I know,' Isaac admitted, 'I heard you talking last night.' He swallowed. 'I didn't mean to,' he hurried an apology, 'but I just couldn't sleep, and then you said that it's just tossers who get sorted into Slytherin...'

'I didn't mean you were a tosser...'

'You're right, though!' Isaac gasped. 'It _is_ just tossers. It's _always_ been tossers.' He slumped back onto his bed.

'Why?' Theo argued. 'What makes you into a tosser?'

'I'm in Slytherin...' Isaac murmured.

'So?' Theo raised his voice.

'Leave it,' Greg warned. 'Did you hear what else the Hat said to me, about choices?' He asked Isaac, but continued to talk even though the other boy didn't answer. 'You choose who you want to be, not someone else, not some stupid Hat.' He took a deep breath. 'You don't have to be a tosser if you don't want to be a tosser. It's up to you.' Greg sighed, pushing himself back onto his bunk and swallowing a mouthful of the cake that Theo had brought him. 'Don't be so hard on him, mate,' he whispered. 'Remember how you were feeling last night... and that's without the family thing...'

Theo winced at the memory, and the room fell silent as he paced back to his own bed.

'I still don't get it,' Isaac muttered a few minutes later. 'Why are you bothered about me?'

'We're in the same House, mate.' Greg smiled. 'We're going to be here together for the next seven years. Why shouldn't we be bothered?'

'You're Slytherin...' Isaac argued, 'didn't you hear what Professor Binns said? Slytherins look out for themselves.'

'I know,' Greg kept his voice level, 'but that doesn't change anything. That doesn't mean we have to be _selfish_.' He sat up. 'Aren't we all better off if we stick together? Isn't that what's best for ourselves... and best for all of us?'

Blinking, Isaac pushed himself up to face the other first-year. 'I guess that makes sense,' he offered, wiping the back of his arm across his eyes. 'Thank you, Greg...'

'That's alright, mate,' he held out his hand, and Isaac took it without hesitation.

'I'd never thought of it like that before,' Oscar smiled as the first-years retold their conversation to their older friends.

'It makes sense though, doesn't it?' The resigned frown that had filled Matthew's face over the last 24 hours had been replaced by a brighter expression. 'Think about the things the Hat says about the Houses. How many people do you think would only fit into one of them? How many of the Houses do you think you're like – even a little bit?'

'I'm not Ravenclaw,' Theo blurted out, and as the other four children laughed at his admission he couldn't keep his head from dropping onto his arms.

'Come on, mate,' Greg nudged his friend gently. 'That doesn't matter. Some things are more important than being smart.'

'Merlin, Greg...' Matthew shook his head in wonder. 'It's only been a week since you were scared stiff of what might happen here... and now...'

Greg smiled thinly, biting his lip as he grew conscious of his cheeks blushing red. 'What else was I meant to do...?'

'Maybe the Hat knew,' Oscar reflected, 'maybe it knew to sort these three together. Maybe it knew more than we thought it did?'

'It's a thousand-year-old hat, Ossie,' Theo looked up sharply. 'I bet it knows things we've never even imagined.'

The other three children laughed as Oscar swallowed, momentarily silenced by the first-year's assertion.

'Who says you'd never make Ravenclaw?' The prefect stammered, before he and Theo joined their friends' laughter.


	6. Flying Lessons

'Have you ever tried this before?' Theo whispered to Greg the following Tuesday morning, as he followed Isaac down the winding track that led to the school's Quidditch pitch.

'No, mate,' Greg shook his head, 'Zac?'

'Yeah,' Isaac turned around, grinning keenly as he waited for the other two children to catch him. 'My uncle was Ravenclaw Captain,' he explained. 'I got my first broom when I was four.'

Theo swore under his breath. 'I bet all the Gryffindors have done it before, too. They're going to love it when I can't even take off.'

'Matt had never flown before,' Greg reminded his friend, 'and neither had Oscar. They're both muggle-born, like us – and they're captain and vice captain now.'

'But...'

'Were you any good at muggle sports?' Greg insisted. 'Matt says it's the same... finding space, keeping your position, staying balanced.'

'It's on a _broom_!'

Isaac laughed. 'Can you ride a bicycle?'

'Yes!' Theo protested, angrily.

'Well, I can't – but Uncle Roger says it's just like a broom.' Isaac paused, sensing the other boys' disbelief. 'He's married to a muggle now. We go to see them sometimes, and their children have their own bikes...'

'I'm sure you'll be fine, mate,' Greg smiled, trying to pretend he didn't harbour the same fears that his friend had voiced moments before.

'Yeah,' Isaac echoed, blithely, 'now come on, or we'll be late, and we'll get left with the crappy school brooms...'

The other two Slytherins hurried after their friend, but as they arrived at the pitch, they could see that his prediction had already come true, and the Gryffindor children had taken first choice from the store cupboard.

'It doesn't matter, really,' Isaac whispered as he picked out three of the least battered examples from the pile. 'It won't stop you flying. It will just go slower and won't corner so well.'

Theo gulped, gritting his teeth and willing his breakfast to remain in his stomach as he wondered how he could reply. He was saved, however, by the arrival of the Quidditch coach.

'Right, first-years,' his rich accent punctuated the dewy morning, and the three Slytherin boys drew closer together, not noticing Lucas' late arrival by their side. 'My name is Professor Wood,' he intoned. 'I played Quidditch here for Gryffindor for six years, and professionally for Puddlemere United for another ten, as well as 17 times for Scotland.'

'Wow...' Isaac whispered, under his breath, but the other children had not all been so easily impressed.

'Why are you here coaching us, then?' The spiky-haired boy who had challenged Isaac after the History of Magic lesson spoke out.

The teacher lifted his right hand, pushing his wrist back on itself a full 180 degrees, before pulling it back down in the opposite direction. 'There is only so much magical surgery can do for you.'

The spiky-haired boy shuddered, and a quick glance around the assembled first-years told Greg that he wasn't the only queasy one.

'What's your name, boy?' Wood demanded.

'Spencer Dawlish,' he answered.

The professor nodded, before striding onwards down the line. 'I see you have all taken a broom,' he announced. 'So we will start at the very beginning. Place your strong hand over the broom, and in a calm and clear voice, shout 'up'!'

'Up...' Greg offered weakly, staring at the broomstick that remained disobediently motionless by his feet. 'Up,' he pleaded, as he watched Isaac's broom float upwards into his friend's grasp.

'That won't work,' the other boy chided. 'You have to say it like you mean it, like you actually expect it to happen.'

'Up...' Greg repeated.

'No!' Isaac shook his head. 'I can tell you don't think it's going to work. Say it like you really believe it... like the way you persuaded me Slytherin wasn't all bad.'

Greg nodded slowly, bracing himself as he turned to stare down at the broom. 'Up!' he commanded, before grinning excitedly as it rose steadily into his grip. 'I did it!'

'Told you,' Isaac snickered. 'Now, Theo...' He repeated his instructions to the other Slytherin, and as the lesson progressed the two muggle-born children grew ever more confident in their flying.

'I think I know what your uncle meant about this being like riding a bicycle,' Theo smiled, breathless, as he landed alongside his friends, flicking the fringe of his hair from in front of his eyes. 'You stop having to think about what you're doing to make it turn or dip, it just comes naturally.'

Isaac nodded. 'Fun, isn't it?'

'Yeah!' The two other boys echoed each other's enthusiastic response, Greg's grin almost as wide as Theo's near-permanent smile.

'Well, then,' the teacher's voice called the children together moments later. 'It's time to see how good some of you are.' He reached into the pockets of his robes, pulling out a small, fluorescent orange ball. 'This,' he announced over the gasps of surprise, 'is what the pro teams use when they're training.' With the deftest of flicks of his left hand, he sent the ball sailing five or six metres skywards, before nonchalantly catching it once again. 'Think about how far it goes when I really throw it.' He gazed around the crowd of enthralled first-years. 'So who's up for it?'

'Me,' Isaac announced calmly, swinging the handle of his broomstick between his legs. 'Isaac Davies.'

'Do we have an opponent?' the teacher nodded, before staring towards the Gryffindor children, who backed away to either side of Isaac's sister.

'Holly Davies. Isaac's _big_ sister.' She copied her brother's actions in mounting the broom, glaring coldly at the brown-haired boy, before pushing off in pursuit of him as Wood hurled the ball into the air.

'Get off,' Isaac mouthed as his sister closed the distance between them. 'Find your own space.'

'Why don't you?' she smirked. 'Can't fly fast enough, baby brother?'

Isaac shook his head. 'Why don't we swap brooms and see?' He struggled to prise himself free of her attentions, pushing back against her as they jockeyed for position in the sky, Holly shadowing her brother's every move.

'I hope he gets it...' Greg whispered to Theo, several metres below. 'She won't let him hear the end of it...'

'I know,' Theo nodded, 'but why... why are they both so far away, when the ball's going to fall...' He stretched out his arm, pointing to the empty space between the two fliers and the other gathered first-years, and as he did so, Isaac answered his question, streaking away from the girl's grip into the gap that Theo had indicated.

'Come on!' He dropped gently back to the ground, punching the air with delight as Theo and Greg ran up to him. 'She fell for it!'

'Proper Slytherin cunning,' Greg smiled, high-fiving his friend as the successful flier opened his palm to reveal the orange ball.

'Well flown, young man, well flown,' Professor Wood nodded his head towards Isaac. 'Five points to Slytherin.'

'But...' Spencer interrupted. 'Aren't you a Gryffindor, sir?'

'Yes,' Wood turned back to the first-year, his eyes suddenly flashing with anger, 'why do you ask?'

'He's in Slytherin,' Spencer retorted, as if the matter were obvious.

'I can tell that, Dawlish,' the teacher's gaze didn't waver. 'I can also tell that he won. You don't win Quidditch matches by pretending.' He caught the training ball as it sped back to him, Isaac having forgotten just how easy it was to project. 'Do you fancy a go, then? Five more points at hand?'

'I'll take him on,' Greg heard himself announce to the crowd before he realised what he was saying.

'Good luck, mate,' Theo whispered.

'Yeah, good luck,' Isaac repeated. 'Remember, out-think him if you can't out-fly him.'

Greg nodded, pushing himself up gently from the ground as he watched Spencer shoot away, in pursuit of the ball's landing. 'Think,' he told himself, watching the bright shape of the ball curving further upwards, and trying to calculate where it would come down. As far as he could tell, Spencer had it right, and he glided over towards the Gryffindor boy, setting himself a handful of yards closer to the gathered children. 'You sure you're happy there?' He yelled out.

'Yes, mate,' Dawlish sneered. 'It's coming straight to me – and you _know_ that crappy little broom won't let you beat me.'

'Your choice,' Greg called back, watching the ball reach the top of its arc and begin its descent. If he couldn't beat him on the level... he'd have to jump the queue. Knowing that he would need to time his climb perfectly, he braced himself, staring upwards at the ball until the moment he could wait no longer, and he powered up to intercept the projectile from its course towards Spencer's arms.

Greg smiled as he heard Isaac and Theo's delighted shouts from the ground below, bringing the broomstick out of its climb and gliding back to the ground below. He dismounted, taking a handful of steps back towards the teacher and passing him back the ball. 'I didn't think I should throw it,' he explained, and Wood smiled.

'Five points to Slytherin,' he nodded. 'Okay, ready for the next pair!' Two Gryffindor children took to the air, but neither managed to catch the training ball as it plummeted downwards moments later, and nor could Theo hang on to his target – although he eluded his opponent and got a hand onto the object.

'Good effort, mate,' Greg clapped his friend on the shoulder. 'Remember you've only been flying half an hour – I bet he's been doing it for years!' With or without experience, however, the vast majority of the first-years made a reasonable attempt at tracking down the training ball.

'Last pair,' Wood called, as the only two children yet to take off shuffled forwards towards him. 'Abercrombie and Brand, am I correct?' The two boys nodded, barely noticeably, before the professor tossed the ball gently upwards – and neither of them moved as the ball looped through the air to plug in the turf, only yards away, as the bell for the end of the lesson rang out over the grounds. 'Dismissed,' Wood announced, 'except for you two.' He looked around, expectantly. 'Didn't you hear me? Go!'

'What do you think will happen to them?' Greg asked his friends as they followed the track back to the castle ahead of the next period. 'Lose points? Detention?'

Isaac shook his head. 'Wood's a legend at Puddlemere. He was a great keeper, but he always played fair, too. He gave us points over Gryffindor – he wouldn't take points off just because someone wasn't very good... would he?'

Theo shrugged. 'I'm just glad it's not me.' He hesitated. 'I mean...'

'We know what you mean,' Greg assured his friend, 'and it's fine. You are Slytherin, remember.' He pushed open the door of the classroom in which they would have their next lesson to find the Gryffindor children already filling most of the places in the room. 'Come on,' he whispered, 'over that side.' He led the other two boys to a table on the far side of the classroom, steeling himself for a snide comment from Spencer as he walked past, but the Gryffindor said nothing.

'I hate these study lessons,' Theo complained as he dropped his bag onto the desk. 'Why don't they just tell us what we've got to do before the next proper lesson?'

'Cause you wouldn't do it, that's why!' Greg laughed as he pulled the sheets of parchment marked 'History of Magic' from his satchel.

Theo shrugged, shaking his head. 'Thanks for the support, mate.' He pulled a crumpled page out of his own bag. 'What's this if it isn't my homework?'

'A paper aeroplane?' Isaac offered, before ducking as Theo hurled the ball of parchment at his friend. Any chance Isaac had to respond, however, disappeared as the seventh-year boy who was to supervise their lesson pushed open the door.

'Good morning,' he announced, only to be met by silence from the class. 'Good morning,' he repeated, and this time a handful of children answered in kind. 'Let me introduce myself. I am Neal Kennedy, seventh-year, Ravenclaw, and I will be the taker for your History of Magic study lessons this year.' He paused. 'I know what you're thinking: more History of Magic. Great – like Binns didn't bore me enough already... but I don't think History needs to be taught like that. I think there are different ways, which can even make you interested in what you're reading about. It doesn't all have to be names and dates of Goblin Rebellions.' He lifted himself up onto the desk at the front of the room. 'So,' he began, 'what did you cover on Friday?'

Greg raised a hand, slowly.

'Yes, you – at the back.'

'We learned about the four Houses,' he swallowed, looking down at his notes, 'and their characteristics.'

Neal nodded. 'So you'll have heard the stories of the four founders,' he began, 'and how the Sorting Hat came about?'

'Yes,' Greg answered, 'and how Slytherin fell out with the other founders.' He gulped, feeling the eyes of the Gryffindor children in the room beginning to bore into him.

'Yes, yes,' Neal pushed up from the desk and began to pace around the classroom. 'Blood purity above all. Yet,' the seventh-year paused beside the Slytherin boys' desk, 'you are not pure blood,' his gaze met Greg's eyes. 'Muggle stationery.' He smiled. 'So, how has it come to be that the Hat no longer follows Slytherin's wishes? What does it really mean to be a Slytherin?' He looked across the room, and back down at his badge, 'Or a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw?' Neal retraced his steps to the front of the room, and flicked his wand. 'On each of your tables, there is a sheet of parchment. Use it, as you wish, to show what it is about being in your House – or simply being at Hogwarts – you are proud about.'

'This isn't so bad, I guess...' Theo admitted as he began to sketch a copy of the green and silver crest of Slytherin House on the centre of the parchment. 'Neal seems alright.'

'Yeah,' Isaac agreed, looking up as Ciaran and Lucas trudged into the classroom.

'Where have you two been?' Neal demanded, standing up from alongside a table of Gryffindors.

'P... Professor Wood... was talking to us...' Ciaran stammered, struggling to hold back his tears. 'He w... wanted...'

'Alright,' Neal interrupted, 'that's all I needed to know. There's a free table over here,' he gestured, 'please can you sit down and get on with your task: everything you need to know is on the blackboard.' The seventh-year kept an eye on the two new arrivals as they edged across the room, filing into a vacant table in front of the Slytherin boys, before striding over to talk with them a few moments later.

'Are you guys alright?' Neal offered, kneeling down between the two nearly silent children.

Ciaran nodded, slowly.

'Your first flying lessons?' the seventh-year guessed, smiling gently as the little Gryffindor nodded again. 'They're not much fun when you can't get off the ground,' he whispered.

'W... what?' Ciaran jolted. 'How do you know?' He checked himself. 'I mean...'

'Relax,' Neal leant an arm around Ciaran's shoulders. 'I've been there. I know the feeling. It's not the end of the earth, Ciaran.'

'H... How do you know my name?' The first-year jumped in his seat.

'It's on your bag,' Neal grinned.

'Oh,' Ciaran smiled, sheepishly, 'right.'

'I'm Neal Kennedy,' the seventh-year introduced himself to the newcomers, 'I'm taking your History of Magic study lessons this year – so you can keep me up to date with how the flying goes.' He glanced up to the classroom roof for a split, wistful second. 'I couldn't even get the broom into my hands in my first lesson... and now I'm on the Quidditch team.' Neal turned to Lucas. 'Don't talk much, do you?'

Lucas shrugged.

'How about this task, then?' Neal continued. 'A side of parchment about why you're proud to be in your House – or just to be at Hogwarts.'

'A side, each?' Ciaran asked.

'The other tables are working together,' the taker added. 'So you could work as a pair or do your own, or...' Neal stood up. 'Does any group have space for these two boys to join you?'

Isaac, Greg and Theo looked up at one another, before Isaac turned back over his shoulder to see if any of the Gryffindors had offered. 'No one else is going to...' He whispered as he looked back. 'You know what they think of _Slytherins_.'

Theo nodded. 'They can work with us,' he called out to the seventh-year. 'Both of them, if they want to.'

'Well?' Neal turned back to the newcomers. 'There's your choice, boys.' Lucas stood up as the taker finished speaking, lifting his bag over to the other Slytherins' table. 'Ciaran?'

'I'll stay here,' he murmured.

'Suit yourself,' the taker shrugged.

'Hiya, Lucas,' Theo offered. 'Are you gonna talk to us today, or not?'

Lucas stared back at the other Slytherin boy, stony-faced.

'Why are you sitting with us if you're not going to talk to us?' Isaac nagged. 'You've got to live with us for the next _seven years_. How are we going to get on if you won't talk to us?'

Lucas shrugged.

'Maybe we don't want to get to know him?' Greg suggested. 'If he's like his brother...'

'I'm _not_ like my brother!' Lucas snapped.

'Who are you like, then?' Greg challenged him.

Lucas shook his head.

'Who do you want to be like?' Isaac pressed the other boy. 'You can't just sit there and hide,' he sighed. 'I know, I tried...' He looked across the table towards his friends.

'I want to get better at flying,' Lucas shivered. 'I want to be able to fly like you did.'

'Well we'll help you,' Isaac clapped him on the shoulder, turning the parchment on the table around to face himself and his neighbour, and pointing out a particular line on the paper. 'Slytherin is about sticking together.'


	7. Team News

'Is this it?' Matthew sighed, casting his eyes around the Quidditch fields that evening. 'Only seven players?'

'Who else did you expect to come?' Oscar asked his friend, rhetorically. 'There's only one second-year, nobody in the fifth, and you know what those sixth-years were like...'

The captain nodded, turning to the gathered handful of boys. 'It looks like it's gonna be pretty easy to pick the team this year,' he smiled, tentatively. 'I guess it's a good thing we got four first-years: welcome on board, guys. I suppose we should get onto our brooms and up in the air.' He glanced around. 'What are you waiting for, Brand?'

Lucas stared impassively back at Matthew.

'Come on, Kevin,' Matthew glared at the first-year. 'Get on your broom.'

'I'm _not_ Kevin,' Lucas shuddered.

'You fly like him,' the captain shot back, as the redhead's eyes began to water.

'Come on, Matt,' Greg shook his head as he guided his broom back to the ground beside the other first-year. 'How's that meant to help?'

'If he's going to be in the team, then he needs to do what I tell him to,' the older boy defended himself.

'So you think shouting at him is going to help?' Isaac supported his classmate, landing on the other side of Lucas.

'But... that's always what Glenayre did...' Matthew stammered. 'The last captain.'

'Yeah,' Oscar rolled his eyes, 'and you know how much we liked that.' He hovered beside the captain, a handful of feet above the ground. 'Why do you need to shout at him?'

'He's doing his best,' Greg chipped in again, 'and we wouldn't be able to have a team at all without him.' The first-year insisted. 'You're the best flier here – so why don't you help him, rather than telling him he's no good?'

Matthew grimaced. 'I suppose you're right,' he admitted, gliding down to land beside Lucas. 'Sorry.'

'Don't call me Kevin,' the younger boy's eyes flashed. 'I'm not Kevin. I'm _nothing_ like Kevin,' he breathed. 'Just because he's my brother, and I look like him, that doesn't mean I'm like him.'

'Okay, mate.' Matthew nodded as he made eye contact with the first-year. 'I'm sorry. Really.' The captain offered his hand, and the eleven-year-old took it, nervously. 'Let's work out how we're going to get you up in the air then, alright?'

An hour later, however, the best efforts of the rest of the team hadn't helped Lucas to get more than a few inches above the ground. The squad had decided that each player would take it in turns to aid the red-headed boy, whilst the other five joined in with the usual practice.

As the sun started to drift below the castle turrets that marked the western horizon, the captain called his players back together. 'Well done, guys,' Matthew dismounted from his broom. 'Not bad for a bunch of first-years,' he grinned as Lucas joined his team mates. 'How are you getting on?'

'Slow,' Lucas answered, barely looking above the captain's knees as he spoke.

'I don't know what's the problem,' Isaac, who had been the last of the team to work with Lucas, shook his head. 'Are you sure you're not a squib?'

The circle of boys fell instantly silent.

'What did you just say?' Oscar gasped, as Greg and Theo turned to look at one another with equally confused expressions on their faces.

'You said I shouldn't shout at people if they were finding it difficult,' Matthew's voice turned cold as he glared at Isaac, 'but I'll shout at you now, you little hypocrite.' He took a couple of steps forward, standing over the first-year. 'Don't you ever let me hear you calling anybody that again... _ever_ again.'

The words echoed back off the ramshackle terracing that encircled the pitch, hitting Isaac for a second time as he dropped his broomstick before turning to run from the other children.

'W... What's that word mean?' Greg asked, nervously, as he watched Isaac's figure grow smaller as it headed back towards the castle.

'A squib is someone who's got magical parents, but can't do magic themselves,' explained Oscar. 'It's basically saying he doesn't deserve to be at Hogwarts.'

'Do you think he really means that?' Theo shook his head, glancing at Lucas as the redhead stared at his own feet.

'I hope not,' Greg murmured.

'So do I,' Oscar agreed, before lowering his voice to whisper in the first-year's ear. 'Wouldn't want to be in your dorm tonight.'

'Yeah,' the eleven-year-old grimaced, pacing over towards Lucas and resting a hand on the other boy's shoulder. 'I'm sure that's not true, mate,' he offered.

'It can't be,' Matthew added. 'He wouldn't have got his letter if he wasn't a wizard.'

Lucas looked back up at the captain without a word, his face still pale.

'Come on, Luc,' Greg encouraged his roommate. 'Let's go back to the dungeon.' He glanced back at the captain. 'What should we do with the brooms?'

'Just leave them out here, Greg,' Matthew answered. 'We'll sort them out. You two should go back with Lucas.'

'Alright,' the eleven-year-old nodded, turning to lead the other first-years back towards their room. 'You'll get there, Lucas. I know you will.' He smiled, thinly.

'Thank you,' the other boy's voice was hoarse as he responded. 'I'm not sure.'

'Oh, come on,' Theo turned round, staring back at Lucas. 'My rugby coach always said, if _you_ don't think you can do it, then who else is going to?'

'No one,' Lucas muttered. 'No one's ever interested.' He sighed, shaking his head as he shuffled ahead of the other two boys.

'Hey, Lucas, wait!' Greg insisted, hurrying after his roommate. 'You can't give up.'

Lucas shrugged. 'Why does it matter? I'm hopeless. You don't need me in the team. _He_ doesn't want me in the team.'

'He didn't mean it...' Greg protested, 'and anyway, what about what _you_ want to do? You want to be on the team, don't you?'

Lucas looked away from the other boy's question. 'It doesn't matter.'

'Come on,' Theo nagged him, nudging his shoulder. 'You are a Slytherin, aren't you?'

'I don't know why,' Lucas muttered. 'I never thought I'd be in the same House as Kevin. He's...' the redhead tailed off, shaking his head again.

'Matt said he's a spoilt brat,' Greg offered, 'he thinks he should have the best of everything. We were worried you were gonna turn out like that, too.' He held an arm over the other boy's shoulders.

'I _hate_ him,' Lucas lashed out at the air ahead. 'He thinks he's so special,' he snapped, 'like everyone should do whatever he wants them to do. He treats me like a bloody house-elf, and he always gets away with it, just cause Mum says he's the man of the house...' He shivered as his eyes began to water. 'Lucas, do the washing-up; Lucas, get rid of the gnomes. Lucas, clean my cauldron...'

'Tosser,' Theo remarked, remembering the stories the older boys had told him.

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, 'but remember, like you said, you don't have to be like him. Matt and Oscar aren't like him. We're not like him. You want to be in the Quidditch team, and he doesn't. That's one difference already.'

Lucas grimaced. 'I'm no good...'

'You'll get there,' Greg insisted, 'if you keep on practising, you'll get there. You heard what Neal said in History of Magic.'

'Yeah,' Theo agreed. 'Ordovicius!' He touched his wand to the marble of the dungeon door. 'I wonder what Isaac's got to say for himself.'

The hissing drone of water from the shower room attached to the first-year dormitory greeted the three children on their return from the Quidditch pitch.

'He can't hide forever,' Theo dropped down onto his bunk beside the doorway, before pushing himself up again to pull a footstool across the entrance. 'He's not going anywhere till he explains himself.' Theo justified his actions as he pulled his robes over his head.

'Close the curtains, will you?' Greg rolled his eyes as his friend continued to change into his pyjamas.

'Oh, yeah,' Theo grinned, sheepishly. 'Sorry!'

'He's right about not being a Ravenclaw...' Greg muttered as he drew the curtains around his own bed, searching out the knee-length shorts in which he would sleep. 'Is it safe to come out yet?'

'Yeah, you're safe,' Theo laughed, his white-blond fringe falling down over his eyes. 'All you're gonna see is my birthmark.'

'Where's that...?' Greg peered out from behind the drapes.

'On my shoulder,' Theo turned his back as he explained, showing his friend a dark blotch inside one of his shoulder blades.

'Cool,' Greg nodded. 'I reckon it looks a bit like a snitch if you look at it this way...' He tilted his head to one side, beckoning the other boy. 'What do you reckon, Lucas?'

'I guess it does – maybe a little bit,' the redhead admitted. 'What do you think mine looks like?' Lucas lifted up his left sleeve, revealing a thin dark brown mark at the top of his pallid arm.

'Uh...' Greg squinted, 'a wand?'

Theo trotted across to take a look for himself. 'Well,' he offered, 'if mine's a snitch, then yours is definitely a broom.'

Lucas managed a brief grin as he heard his roommate's suggestion, but as the door to the shower room creaked open moments later, the dormitory plunged back into silence.

Isaac shuffled through the half-open doorway into the bedroom, his brown hair still dripping water that trickled down onto his pale chest.

'Well?' Theo challenged Isaac, drawing himself up to his full height and striding forwards to stand over the other boy.

'W... what?' Isaac stammered, but Theo swiftly cut off the rest of his reply.

'You know what,' he snapped. 'What happened to _Slytherins stick together_? How dare you call him that?'

Isaac stared down at his own feet.

'At least look at him,' Greg stood up. 'At least have the guts to face him and look him in the eye.'

Isaac shook his head, still hiding his eyes from the other boys as the water droplets on his cheeks began to mix with his tears.

'Coward,' Theo taunted him. 'I can see why your sister picks on you, you little piece of crap.'

Isaac turned away from Theo's insults, trying to pick his way past Greg to the sanctuary of his own bunk, only to find the other boy blocking his way.

'No way past,' Greg folded his arms, glaring down at the top of Isaac's fringe. 'Not till you explain yourself.'

Isaac looked up for a moment, briefly, pleadingly, towards the boy who stood in his path, but cowered away again as he met Greg's stony glare.

'We can stay here all night if we have to,' Theo warned, edging behind Isaac and cutting off his chance of escape back into the bathroom. 'You're not getting away with this.'

Isaac shivered, looking left and right between the other Slytherin children for a way out, before his eyes settled on Lucas' blank face. 'Luc...' he swallowed, before his head dropped down once again.

'What?' Theo answered for his roommate. 'What are you going to call him this time?'

'I wasn't...' Isaac stumbled backwards onto the dormitory wall, sliding down to slump against the skirting boards, his face as white as his shoulders.

'Are you sure about that?' Theo towered over him. 'Maybe he's not like his brother, but you are? Maybe you're the real tosser?'

'Okay, Theo,' Greg extended an arm across his friend's chest as Isaac hid his own face beneath his towel. 'He gets it.'

'Then he can bloody well apologise,' Theo snapped.

'And so can you,' Lucas interrupted.

'What?' Theo turned. 'Me?'

'You can apologise to him, too,' Lucas repeated. 'You didn't need to call him that.'

'But...'

'You're doing exactly the same thing that you were having a go at him for,' Lucas insisted. 'How's that fair?' The red-haired boy turned to face Greg. 'You said yourself that he didn't mean it.'

Isaac looked up gratefully at Greg as he heard the other first-year's words, blinking a film of moisture away from his raw eyes.

'That doesn't mean you don't have to apologise,' Greg maintained, 'but he's right. I don't think you meant it.'

'I didn't,' Isaac spluttered. 'I don't know why I said it.' He rubbed his forearm across his eyes. 'Sorry, Lucas.'

'Alright,' Lucas nodded. 'Theo?'

'What?'

'You know what he means, mate,' Greg stretched an arm around his friend's shoulders.

'I'm not sorry,' Theo glowered at Isaac's hunched posture. 'What should I be sorry for?'

'You shouldn't have called him a tosser,' the other boys heard Lucas raise his voice for the first time. 'He made one mistake! If I can forgive him, why can't you?'

'Come on, Theo,' Greg whispered. 'We've got to live with each other for seven years, remember.'

'Fine,' Theo sighed. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'That doesn't make it alright, though.'

'I know,' Isaac blinked again, clearing the last of the moisture from his eyelids. 'I just wasn't thinking. I guess I thought it would be funny... my sister always calls me it...'

'Zac,' Greg knelt down as he used the shortened form of the name that the boys had come up with over the past weekend. 'It's okay. We all screw up sometimes. We know you didn't mean it; that's enough. Stop beating yourself up about it.'

'Yeah,' Lucas echoed. ' _Slytherins stick together_.'

'Wow,' Isaac gazed up at the roof of the Charms classroom the following morning. 'I guess there's absolutely no way you're a squib.'

Lucas laughed, watching a single tawny feather, which hovered three-quarters of the way towards the ceiling, flutter on a gentle breeze. 'You're lucky I know you can fly,' he turned to his friend, nodding towards the stationary plumage on the other boy's desk, 'cause otherwise...'

'Hey!' Isaac elbowed the red-headed boy, causing him to lose concentration on the levitation charm, but Lucas only grinned as the feather drifted down onto the classroom floor. 'If you can do that...' the shorter boy wondered, 'you _must_ be able to fly.'

'Yeah,' Lucas smiled, 'I guess you're right.'

'Well done, mate,' Greg leaned across Isaac, along the long bench that traced the wall of the classroom. 'That's fantastic.' He smiled. 'That'll be you up there soon, I swear it. We'll go down the pitch again tonight and help you practise some more if you want to.'

'Thanks, Greg,' He returned his friend's grin. 'That'd be cool. _Wingardium Leviosa!'_ He aimed his wand down towards the feather that now lay alone on the classroom floor, and with Lucas' face locked in a stare of fierce concentration, the feather rose back to the first-year's desk.

'Oh, tremendous, Mr Brand!' The impish form of Professor Flitwick scuttled excitably over the classroom floor towards Lucas. 'Not just levitation, but controlled levitation. This is a very promising start, young man – ten points to Slytherin!'

Isaac punched his friend playfully on the shoulder. 'Way to go, Lucas! We can't be far off the lead now.'

'I bet we won't be there for too long, though,' Greg sighed. 'There's just not enough of us to keep on getting points.'

'Who cares about that now?' Theo cut him off. 'Let's enjoy it whilst we can!' He grinned as the sharp ring of the school bell signalled the end of Flitwick's lesson. 'Now, we've hardly got anything else left today...'

'Except Transfiguration at half eleven,' Greg contradicted his friend.

'That's only a study lesson...'

'I saw your matchsticks yesterday!' Greg laughed. 'After you'd tried to turn them into needles and only managed sawdust...'

Theo shrugged. 'At least I managed to change them into something.'

'Remind me never to let you try any spells on me,' Isaac shook his head. 'Anyway, we've got Muggle Studies after lunch – and double prep, too...'

'Muggle Studies?' Theo snorted. 'Yeah, me and Greg are really _dreading_ that. We've only been living without magic for, oh, eleven years.'

Isaac glared back at the blond-haired boy.

'Oh come on, Zac,' Greg nudged his friend in the back. 'Let him have his moment. I bet you beat him in every other subject.'

Isaac managed a smile that grew wider as Theo responded by asking Greg exactly how much he was prepared to stake on his prediction.

'Are we heading back to the dungeons for break, then?' Lucas changed the subject amiably.

'Sure,' Greg nodded, following the redhead as he turned down a twisting staircase that led to the hidden marble doors of the Slytherin common room.

'Ordovicius!' Lucas announced as the doorway melted into the wall in front of him.

'Matt? Ossie? You in here?' Greg called out over his friend's shoulder. 'I guess that's a no.'

'We'll see them at lunch, mate,' Theo reasoned.

'We didn't at breakfast.'

'Yeah,' Isaac's distant voice caused the other three boys to snap their heads around. 'That's probably cause they didn't need to get up until second period.' He was gazing at a noticeboard that, amongst Matthew's ignored posters for the Quidditch tryouts, listed the timetable for all the year groups.

'Lucky them,' Theo moaned.

'It's us tomorrow,' Isaac shot back, 'and it's only Muggle Studies at ten...'

'Which we're all definitely going to,' Greg jumped in before Theo could consider any other ideas. 'You haven't even been here a week yet – and we haven't had any Muggle Study lessons either!'

'I suppose so,' Theo admitted reluctantly.

'I'm interested in it,' Lucas offered. 'Kevin _hates_ it,' he explained. 'He says he can't see why he should care how muggles do things without magic, when it's so much easier with a wand. I figure anything he can't stand is probably pretty good.'

Greg smiled. 'Well, if you like it, I guess you could come and do some extra Muggle Studies if you came and stayed with us over the holidays.'

Theo and Isaac laughed at their housemate's joke, but Lucas did not join in. Instead, the redheaded boy's face froze as he heard Greg speak, before bolting up and making for the stairs that led to the first-years' dormitory.

Greg shook his head. 'What did I say?'

'I dunno, mate,' Theo's voice echoed his friend's disbelief. 'I guess you better go and find out, though.'

'Yeah...' Casting a brief glance towards Isaac, who could only return his stunned gaze, Greg pushed himself up to follow Lucas downstairs. 'See you in Transfig. Save us seats.'

Theo rolled his eyes. 'It's not like anyone's gonna sit next to us, is it?'

'You know what I mean, mate.'

'Yeah,' Theo nodded. 'See you.'

'Luc?' Greg knocked tentatively on the dormitory door as he eased it open. 'Lucas? Are you alright, mate?' He tiptoed across the dormitory towards the furthest bed from the door, where the red-haired boy lay, face down amongst his sheets. 'Was it something I said?'

Slowly, Lucas rolled onto his side, rubbing a thin film of moisture out of his eyes. 'Did you mean it? Really?'

'Did I mean what?' Greg stuttered, caught off guard by the nature of the other boy's question.

'That I could come and stay with you?'

'Well...' Greg hesitated, still half-paralysed as his mind raced to decipher Lucas' reactions. 'Yes. I mean,' he hurried to add, 'only if you wanted to...'

Lucas' eyes fell shut again as he turned, wordlessly, away from Greg.

'Luc... are you okay?' Greg reached out. 'Do you want to go to the hospital wing?'

'No,' Lucas spoke unusually forcefully. 'It's just...' he turned on his mattress, shuffling as he faced Greg. 'No one ever asked me that before,' he explained. 'No one ever thought I wasn't just going to be like Kevin.'

Greg managed a timid smile as he began to understand the other boy's reaction. 'I remember the day I got my Hogwarts letter,' he offered, sitting down on the bed beside Lucas. 'I remember seeing the owl... I think I felt like you do now.' He sighed. 'I've never told anyone this – but I was scared. It didn't make sense; it was so different to anything I'd ever seen before. I didn't know how to react... but luckily Matt was there, he saw the owl arrive, and he explained everything to me.' He paused. 'God, that sounds stupid, doesn't it?'

Lucas shook his head. 'I think I get what you mean. I know I really wanted what you said to be true... but I couldn't quite believe it. Especially as nothing ever happens like I want it to.'

'Well, maybe it's starting to happen,' Greg suggested. 'Remember that feather this morning? I reckon things are starting to go your way.'


	8. Slughorn

'Bloody hell, Theo!' Greg ducked. 'You're meant to hit those things _away_ from us!'

'I can't help it if they come back again, can I?' The other boy grinned. 'I'll try and hit it harder next time!'

'Mate, I don't care how hard you hit it right now, just make sure it's the _other_ way!' Greg pointed away from himself, exaggeratedly.

Matthew couldn't stop himself from smiling as he drifted to the ground. 'Okay, everyone in.' He flicked his wand as a short, sharp whistling sound echoed over the Quidditch pitch. 'Is everyone in a better mood than yesterday, then?' He followed the question to which he already knew the answer with a less certain ask. 'Alright then, who's beating, and who's chasing?'

The first-years looked towards one another, blank looks on three of the four faces.

'Make Theo a beater,' Isaac was the only boy to remain alert. 'You saw how he was hitting it!'

'Well?' Matthew turned to face Theo. 'What do you reckon, mate? Beater?'

Theo shrugged his shoulders, flicking the fringe of his blond hair back behind his ears. 'I don't know,' he hesitated. 'What do they have to do?'

'Just hit the bludgers!' Oscar laughed. 'Keep them from hitting our players, and do your best to hit the other team instead.'

'Oh, right,' Theo smiled. 'That's it? No tactics, no rules...?'

'There are rules, alright,' Matthew answered, 'but you don't need to worry about them too much.' He turned back to the other first-years. 'What about the rest of you, then? Who's the other beater going to be?'

'I'll do it,' Lucas' left hand edged upwards. 'The chasers should be the best fliers,' he explained, quietly. 'Greg and Zac are much better than me.'

'You're getting better, Luc,' Greg argued back, almost instantly.

Lucas shook his head. 'That doesn't matter,' he protested. 'You'll keep getting better, too. You're both better than me, and you know it.'

'He's right, Greg,' Theo spoke up. 'Remember what Wood said: you don't win Quidditch matches by pretending.'

'Right,' Matthew agreed. 'Everyone knows you and Zac are the best fliers out of the first-years. Remember what happened in your first flying lesson.' The captain grew animated as he spoke. 'Remember that we're Slytherin, too – we do what we have to do to get where we want to go. I know it doesn't mean that we can't be friends along the way, but we've _got_ to have our best players in their best positions!'

'Well said, skipper,' Oscar clapped his friend between the shoulder blades. 'Come on then, Lucas, Theo – we'll do some beaters' practice.'

'Thanks, mate,' Matthew nodded. 'As for the rest of you, well, up on your brooms – let's see if you two can score past Seb!'

'Bloody hell...' Greg repeated the same swear words that he'd used a couple of hours earlier as he collapsed, eyes closed, onto his bunk in the first-years' dormitory. 'I'm knackered!'

'What, after one session?' Theo laughed. 'You sound like you never played any sport before!'

'Hey!' Greg thought about pushing himself up as he took offence at his friend's jibe. 'I played for my school football team for two years!'

'Ooh, football...' Theo smiled. 'Isn't that the one where you roll around on the floor pretending to be injured for half the time? No wonder you're worn out now!'

'What did you play, then, if you're so fit?' Greg challenged the other boy.

'Rugby! A real sport for real men; that's what my coach always said. Where you only go down if you can't physically get up again.' Theo glanced from Greg's prone figure to the two magically-raised first-years, each of whom wore expressions that betrayed their utter confusion. 'Muggle sports,' Theo explained with a grin. 'Football fans think their sport's better, when rugby's much more...'

'Rubbish!' Greg interrupted. 'All you do playing rugby is throw yourself on the floor on top of each other. I can never see where the ball is!'

'No, that's what the forwards do,' Theo retorted. 'If you're a scrum-half or a fly-half, then you've got to be everywhere, passing, tackling, running – even kicking sometimes...'

Greg glared at the other boy, but was saved from having to continue the argument by Lucas' interruption. 'Do you think they'll teach us about these sports in Muggle Studies?'

'They should do,' Theo responded almost instantly. 'Think how important Quidditch is for you wizards... Football and Rugby are the same for muggles.'

'You wizards?' Isaac questioned.

'What?'

'You just said "you wizards". Didn't you realise?' Isaac repeated himself, nervously.

'Oh,' Theo swore, realising what he had said. 'Sorry... I mean...'

'It's okay,' Isaac cut off Theo's stumbling attempts to apologise. 'I know it's easy to say things you don't really mean,' he looked pointedly at the other boy.

'Yeah,' Theo bit his bottom lip, remembering their argument the previous evening. 'You're right. Sorry – really – and for yesterday as well...'

'It's okay,' Isaac repeated himself.

'Quidditch is important to _us_ wizards.' Theo, still feeling the need to correct himself, let his grin grow wider as he saw Isaac return his smile, happy in the knowledge that his friend wouldn't hold any grudges against him. 'I still love rugby, though,' he maintained, suddenly darting beneath his bunk to root around within his travelling trunk, before emerging moments later with an oval-shaped ball. 'Here, Greg!' With a snap of his wrists, the ball fizzed the short distance between the two muggleborn boys' bunks, spinning sharply on its axis as it flew.

'Woah,' Greg's eyes widened as the rugby ball sped towards him, and the boy lifted his hands up, reflexively, parrying its path towards his face before catching it on the rebound. 'How do you throw it that hard?' He lobbed the ball gently back to his friend.

Theo didn't need a second invitation to show off his skills again, and made a show of clasping his hands onto the two ends of the rugby ball, his right hand taking the bottom and his left resting more gently on the top. 'It's all in the spin,' he explained. 'The left hand shows you where the ball's going to go, and the right hand sends it.' He flicked the ball up in the air a couple of times, letting his left hand slip – apparently aimlessly – off the side of the ball, before turning his body and spinning the ball towards Greg with unerring accuracy.

'Cool...' Greg admitted, resting his hands on the ball in the same way as Theo had demonstrated before sending it back towards his friend – without anything like as much spin, pace or control. 'I guess it needs practice?'

'Yeah,' Theo laughed. 'My coach always said that there wasn't anything that didn't need practice – not if you wanted to be the best player you could possibly be.'

'I think he's right,' Isaac broke his own silence. 'I was looking through one of my Puddlemere programmes last night, and I found something about Professor Wood's career. Right back when he was at Hogwarts, he was famous for taking practice and training way more seriously than anyone else.' He paused. 'So, I was thinking, why shouldn't we do the same? We all know what everyone thinks of Slytherins – let's prove to them all that they're wrong... and let's start by practising doing _that_ with the quaffles.'

'Is that allowed?' Theo asked, spinning the rugby ball up to himself once again.

'Why wouldn't it be?' Isaac answered back.

Theo shrugged. 'How would I know? I'd never even _heard_ of Quidditch last week!'

'It'll be okay,' Lucas assured the muggle-born boy. 'There are lots of rules – 700 of them, in fact – but most of them haven't been used in hundreds of years,' he explained. 'Most of them are just about not interfering with the other players while they're flying.'

'Unless you're hitting those massive rocks at them, right?' Theo shook his head.

'They're called bludgers,' Lucas insisted, 'and they're not rocks... well, not any more.'

'So what won't I be allowed to do?' Theo asked.

'Take hold of someone's broom, grab someone's robes, collide with them on purpose...' Lucas started listing the rules of the sport.

'What if it's by accident?' Theo set the rugby ball down on the bedsheets by his side.

'Well...' Lucas hesitated, looking to Isaac.

'It depends what the referee thinks,' the other magically-raised boy explained.

'Cool,' a wide grin spread over the muggle-born's face. 'Just like Rugby.' He picked up the oval ball again, spinning it back towards Greg. 'My coach always said that if the referee lets you get away with it, then it's fine by him.'

Greg laughed as he caught the rugby ball. 'I bet he would have been in Slytherin.'

'Alright,' Lucas hesitated, 'but how are we going to practise properly,' he asked, 'when we haven't got any brooms?'

'Can't we get some?' Theo held his hands up to his chest, gesturing for a return pass.

'No,' Lucas answered, flatly. 'It's in the school rules. First-years aren't allowed to have their own brooms.'

'Their _own_ brooms?' Greg half-repeated his friend's assertion. 'Is that what it says, exactly?'

'Well, yeah.' Lucas shrugged. 'So what?'

'Wait and see,' Greg smiled. 'Wait and see.'

The Potions classroom was only a short walk from the Slytherins' dungeon, and as the four boys filed along the narrow corridor towards the arched door, they caught up with the gathering of Hufflepuff students with whom they would be sharing the lessons.

'Slughorn's a Slytherin, isn't he?' One of the waiting boys whispered to one of his friends.

'Yeah,' the other boy confirmed. 'He used to teach my Mum. She says that Slughorn used to be really good, but his heart isn't in it any more, not since, since...'

'Since the war?' The first boy finished his friend's sentence, before turning to head quietly into the high-roofed classroom. The four Slytherins followed close behind him, picking out a circular table in the far corner of the room.

'Good morning,' the professor pushed through a wide door in the opposite corner, muttering to himself as he wedged his ample body into a wide armchair that squatted behind a long bureau. 'Please turn your textbooks to page 11,' he intoned as he completed a roll-call. 'This is a very straightforward potion: a simple revitalising draught. So long as you have purchased supplies as instructed, you will find that you have all the correct ingredients. If this is not the case, you will find them in this particular cupboard.'

Lazily, Slughorn flicked a wand towards the edge of the classroom, and a pair of double doors slid open. 'Work with the student beside you. You have until one o'clock, at which point you will submit your potions for grading. Begin.'

'Is that all he's going to tell us?' Theo shook his blond fringe away from his eyes, watching the teacher beginning to leaf through the yellowing pages of a tired book. 'Read the textbook? _I_ could sit there and tell everyone that.'

Isaac shook his head. 'I guess that explains why we never see him in the dungeons, too.'

'What?' Theo answered back, sharply. 'Why would we see him in the dungeons?'

'He's head of Slytherin House,' Isaac explained.

'Oh, right.' Theo nodded, settling back onto his wooden stool. 'I see what those Hufflepuff boys meant.'

'Who's going to work with who, then?' Greg spoke up.

Isaac shrugged. 'Does it matter?'

'Well, you two are both magical,' Greg thought out loud, 'and me and Theo aren't,' he continued, 'so maybe we should split that up.'

'Sure,' Isaac nodded. 'I might as well go with you, I guess, seeing as I'm sat next to you.' He glanced to his left, looking towards Lucas. 'If you don't mind working with Theo?'

'That's fine,' Lucas nodded, reaching down below his stool for his potions kit.

'Cool,' Theo smiled. 'Hey, if we manage to make a good one, do you think he'll let us keep it to see if we can keep awake in History of Magic?'

'I don't think he'd even notice you'd taken it...' Isaac remarked, looking over his shoulder towards the disinterested teacher. 'Why would you want to waste it on Binns' lectures, though?' He grinned.

'Do you know anything else about Slughorn?' Greg asked his partner as he counted out a stack of small, black figs.

'Not really,' the other boy shrugged. 'My uncle had left by the time he came back to teach here again.'

'You mean he taught here before?'

'Oh, yeah,' Isaac finished pouring a measure of sky blue liquid into a glass vial. 'He taught here first a long time ago – he started in the 1940s or something – and then he came back in, um, it must have been 1996... during the Second War.'

'When Voldemort returned,' Greg completed his friend's sentence, 'and half of Slytherin fought with him.' He gazed back across the room to the professor, idly flicking through the pages of his book.

'Slughorn fought against him.' Isaac recalled. 'Together with McGonagall, they duelled him – before Harry Potter defeated him for good...' he sighed. 'Right after he watched the rest of Slytherin run away to save their own arses.'

'No wonder people say his heart's not in it any more,' Greg remembered the Hufflepuff boys' words in the corridor before the lesson. 'Who can blame him?'

Isaac shook his head, slowly. 'No one ever told me this part of the story,' he sighed. 'It always ended with the heroes of Gryffindor living happily ever after: but if Gryffindor ends up being full of people like Dawlish, then I'm glad I didn't get sorted there.'

'I guess things don't always turn out the way the stories make you think they should do,' Greg shrugged, brushing the figs together into a pile with the back of a steel knife. 'The stories about Slytherin aren't all true, are they?'

'Well...' Isaac hesitated. 'Some are...'

'You know what I mean,' Greg insisted, 'about everyone being a selfish tosser. 'I'm _proud_ to be in Slytherin.' He turned back to the pile of figs, striking at them with aggressive, haphazard cuts as they crumbled into chunks and slices.

'So am I,' Isaac whispered, 'but, you know, it's still difficult to say that out loud.' He blushed slightly, looking away from his friend and back down towards his Potions textbook, accidentally catching the sleeve of his robe on the neck of the vial as he moved. 'Merlin!'

Greg reacted in an instant, stretching out his left arm to seize the neck of the container as it tumbled towards the classroom floor, spilling its contents across Isaac's lap. 'Are you alright, Zac?' He lowered his voice. 'Did Slughorn see?'

Isaac glanced over his shoulder. 'Not bloody likely,' he grinned, 'as if that dozy old bat would notice anything,' he snorted.

'Okay... alright,' Greg blinked, returning the empty vial to the bench in front of him. 'I'll just go get something to clean that up.' He hurried across the room to a workbench set against the wall, where a pile of old cloths and rags lay, stacked in a precarious pile on a high shelf.

'Hey,' Greg recognised the boy standing in front of the workbench as being the Hufflepuff whom he had overheard outside the classroom on his way in. 'Can I...'

'Take them!' The boy stammered, unsteadily shoving a pile of half-chopped figs towards Greg. 'Please! Just leave me alone!'

'What?' Greg recoiled.

'Have them. I mean it!' The Hufflepuff boy's short black hair seemed to stand out against his forehead as his skin turned pale.

'I don't want your figs,' Greg shook his head, gently pushing the chopping board back to the other boy. 'I was only going to ask if I could get one of those towels,' he pointed up to the shelf above the Hufflepuff's head. 'Why did you think I wanted to take your figs? Cause I'm a Slytherin?'

Greg rolled his eyes, watching the colour return to the other boy's face in a reddening rush as he stood aside. 'Thanks. It's just my friend's just spilt this blue liquid all down himself and we need to clean it up before Slughorn sees...' He pulled the topmost rag from the pile and half-turned away to head back to his own desk, only to pause as the Hufflepuff boy stammered another question.

'Blue liquid?'

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, 'the one in the potion.'

'Alihotsy?'

'I don't know, I'm muggle-born.'

'Muggle-born?' The Hufflepuff shook himself, before remembering his train of thought. 'That's Alihotsy. He needs to go to the hospital wing!'

'What?' Greg responded, sceptically. 'Really?'

'Yes,' the other boy nodded, frantically. 'Alihotsy makes you hysterical!'

Greg cast a nervous glance across the room to his friends' table, where – true to the Hufflepuff's prediction – Isaac was giggling uncontrollably to himself. 'Oh, God...'

'Don't worry,' the other boy reasoned, 'Madam Pomfrey will have seen it before. She'll be able to sort it out, no problem.'

'Okay,' Greg nodded, jerkily. 'Thanks. See you.' He hurried back across the room, cloth still in hand, to lift Isaac from his stool and guide his friend towards the exit. 'Pack our stuff away, will you?' Theo and Lucas nodded as they heard their friend's request. 'Professor,' Greg raised his voice, calling across the room. 'I'm taking Isaac to the hospital wing.'

Without waiting for a reply, or even an acknowledgement, Greg headed for the door.

'What do you mean, you don't know his name? How can you want to visit someone you don't even know?' Greg heard the prim voice of the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, as he sat on the hard chair beside the bed in which Isaac slept.

'I know why he's here, for Alihotsy,' a boy's voice argued back. 'He's a first-year, and he's a Slytherin.'

'It doesn't matter if he is a sixth year and a Ravenclaw, Mr..'

'Jones,' the boy replied, despondently.

'Mr Jones,' the nurse completed her sentence. 'If you don't know the boy well enough to know his name, then I can't see how he will benefit from your visiting him.'

Greg stood up, taking the handful of steps towards the doorway that necessary to recognise the Hufflepuff boy from the Potions class. 'His name's Isaac Davies,' he announced, 'and even if he doesn't want to see Mr Jones, I know I do.'

The nurse relented, rolling her eyes theatrically as she turned away from the waiting children. 'Just make sure you keep the noise down.'

'Thank you,' the black-haired boy reddened as the nurse trotted back to her desk.

'Don't worry about it,' Greg smiled. 'We more than owe you one.' He held his hand out. 'I'm Greg Bennett... and, well, you know that's Isaac.' He indicated the sleeping boy. 'Nurse Pomfrey says he will wake up by four.'

'Glyn Jones,' the Hufflepuff introduced himself, tentatively shaking Greg's hand. 'Well, my full name's Glyndwr, but no one calls me that because they can never spell it...'

'G-l-y-n-d-o-w-e-r?' Greg guessed, gamely.

'Nope,' the Hufflepuff boy shook his head, 'no vowels. It's Welsh. Mum named me after the wizard who led Wales, the last time it was ever free of England.'

Greg grinned. 'I suppose you support Wales at Quidditch, then?'

'It's not like I've got any choice, is it?' He blushed. 'Mum would kill me...'

Greg blinked, gazing back blankly at the other boy. 'Um,' he stammered, 'Why?'

'Gwenog Jones,' Glyn explained. 'She plays for the Holyhead Harpies. Beater. Captain.'

'Okay,' Greg nodded as a look of understanding crossed his face. 'Cool.' He set himself back on the chair beside Isaac's bed, and Glyn did the same on the opposite side of the bunk. 'I never thought you'd come and visit.'

Glyn shrugged, looking away from the other boy's eyes. 'I felt like I ought to. After... you know...' he tailed off.

'Thanks,' the Slytherin answered, ignoring the other boy's half-sentence. 'I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't known about Alihotsy.'

'Someone else would have worked it out,' Glyn offered, weakly. 'I bet Slughorn would have realised what it was pretty quickly.'

'If he'd even noticed,' Greg shook his head, before realising that Glyn's eyes were fixed on the Slytherin badge on the side of his robes. 'Glyn,' he called the other boy's name. 'Forget it. It's not your fault that Slytherins have been tossers for hundreds of years.'

Glyn blushed again. 'I didn't mean...'

'I said _forget it_!' Greg laughed. 'You've realised that we're not all just evil Slytherins from story books... and quicker than Isaac did, as well.' Greg cast his mind back to the previous week. 'With much less swearing, too.'

Glyn's serious expression relaxed into a laugh for the first time, and a natural tan drifted back into his cheeks. 'Do you mind if I ask you something... something about Slytherin?'

'Sure,' Greg nodded, 'on one condition: I get to ask you a question after.'

'Okay,' Glyn agreed. 'Well,' he began, searching for the right words to frame his thoughts. 'I thought... I was always told... that Slytherin was always about blood purity, more than everything – but you're muggle-born. How does that work?'

'Good question,' Greg sighed. 'The Sorting Hat never said anything about blood. It said that Slytherin would give me opportunities, and I told it to put me there if it was where I belonged. I think I knew it couldn't be all bad, because Matt and Ossie were Slytherins too – they're in the fourth year and I knew them before I started. We've all decided that we can make being in Slytherin into what we want it to be, not just what the old stories said it was. There's nothing that says you have to be a tosser to be a Slytherin.'

'Alright,' Glyn nodded, 'I guess that makes sense. The Sorting Hat never asked me anything like that... it just said _Hufflepuff_ the moment it sat on my head.' He sighed. 'So, what's your question?'

'You said that Slughorn used to teach your Mum,' Greg began. 'I just wondered if you knew anything more about him. You see, he's Head of Slytherin, and we've never even seen him to talk to him...' He hesitated, wondering how much of his plan he could share with the Welsh boy. 'We need some teachers on our side if we're to do a proper job of rebuilding Slytherin.'

Glyn shook his head. 'Mum never told me much,' he shrugged. 'She was always one of his favourites – she still sends him Harpies tickets whenever he wants them... although that isn't very often any more. She said he was like a magpie, always after the shiniest, prettiest things that he could take a piece of for himself.'

'Thanks,' Greg nodded. 'Sounds like we could make him interested in helping us, so long as there was something in it for him,' he thought aloud. 'The man who rebuilt Slytherin,' Greg smiled. 'I think he'd like that... Hey,' an idea began to form inside his head. 'Me and Zac are going down to see him after he gets out the hospital wing. Do you want to come along?'

'Why...?' Glyn regarded the blond-haired Slytherin suspiciously.

'Well,' Greg answered. 'You could tell him your Mum says hello: try and get on his good side,' he shrugged, 'but it would really help us out if we could prove there were kids in other Houses who didn't hate our guts,' he smiled. 'Or, even, kids in other Houses who we could call our friends.'

'Sure,' Glyn smiled. 'Count me in.'

Slughorn's quarters lay through a wide wooden door in one corner of the Potions classroom. Later that afternoon, after Isaac stirred from his magical sleep, the three boys waited beside its iron knocker for the professor's answer.

'Who's that?' The man pulled half of the door slowly backwards, peering a single bulging eye through the gap that it produced. 'Who are you?'

'We're first-years, sir,' Greg answered. 'I'm Greg Bennett, this is Isaac Davies – we're both Slytherins – and Glyn Jones, he's Hufflepuff.'

'What have you got yourselves into now?' The man admonished, shaking his head as he eased the door open. 'Not a week in and in front of your Head of House already.'

Greg gritted his teeth, biting back a retort, but Isaac couldn't stop himself. 'Is that the only reason we should come and see you?'

'Zac...' Greg whispered. 'Steady...'

'Some Slytherins don't even know you _are_ Head of House! You've never been to see us.'

'Zac,' Greg repeated, raising his voice sharply and cutting off his friend's complaints. 'We were going to come and see you after Potions, sir, but there was, um, an accident,' he explained.

'I spilt Alihotsy on myself,' Isaac provided the details, 'but I'm okay now,' he added, hurriedly. 'Glyn told us all about it and we went to the hospital wing straight away.'

'And when did this happen?' Slughorn pressed for more answers as the three children edged into the professor's quarters.

'This morning, sir,' Greg answered, uneasily. 'Right here, in your Potions lesson.' He stopped himself saying anything further, turning to snatch a glance at his friends, as the teacher stumbled gracelessly onto a wide sofa.

'This morning, you say?' The man enquired.

'Y... Yes...' Glyn glanced to the two Slytherin boys, and replied as he realised that they couldn't find their own words. 'It was the lesson just before lunch,' his face drained pale once again, 'when we were making revitalising draughts.'

'Well,' Slughorn shrugged his shoulders, listlessly. 'Five points to Hufflepuff for being so well-versed with the properties of Alihotsy!'

'Don't you remember, sir?' Glyn stammered.

'Did I see it?' The man shrugged.

'It was _your lesson_!' Isaac snapped. 'How could you not notice it?' He took a step forwards towards the professor, his face reddening with every breath. 'We're in _your House_! Isn't it your job to care about us whilst we're here?'

'It's interesting you should say that,' the professor's eyes hardened as their gaze focused on Isaac's furious glare. 'You see, there is very little in this House worth caring about.' He sniffed pompously, turning to the low table beside the sofa and lifting a pair of reading glasses. 'One thing I have noticed, however, is your complete and utter lack of respect and manners. Detention, Sunday morning. Eight o'clock.' He looked over the rim of his spectacles to the other two first-years. 'All three of you.'

'But...' Isaac opened his mouth to argue, but his words caught in his throat as Greg grabbed him by the collar, heaving him towards the doorway before he could say anything else.

'Git!' Isaac announced, once Greg released his grip as the boys cleared the Potions classroom. 'Some Head of House he is! He doesn't give a crap about us!'

Greg shook his own head. 'I know... but I don't think you helped, mate.'

'What?' Isaac seethed. 'He's just put us _all_ in detention for no reason whatsoever, and you think it's _my_ fault?'

'Zac!' Greg warned, remembering how easily his friend had already said things he didn't mean. 'That's not what I said, mate.' He stared at his friend. 'We know it's not going to be easy to convince people that Slytherins aren't all just tossers – even Slughorn thinks we are...' He turned, noticing that Glyn had shrunk against a flat seat that was carved into the stone corridor wall. 'I just hope you don't.' Greg sat down beside the Hufflepuff boy. 'Sorry,' he offered, limply. 'I never knew it would end up like that.'

Glyn looked up, his eyes rimmed red and his face pale again. 'Detention,' he mouthed, 'in my first week...'

'I know. I'm sorry,' Greg repeated. 'Sorry we dragged you into it.'

'It's not your fault,' Glyn whispered, 'you never made me come.' He sighed. 'Merlin... what are my Mum and Dad going to say?'

'They won't say anything,' Isaac had calmed down enough to answer the boy's question. 'Not if you don't tell them about it.'

Glyn's eyes widened. 'I never thought of that!'

'That's probably why you're not in Slytherin,' Isaac remarked drily as Glyn stood up. 'See you on Sunday.' He shook his head as the Hufflepuff boy hurried back towards his House's quarters. 'I guess the Hat really knew what it was talking about with him.'

Greg couldn't prevent a wry smile from crossing his face. 'Now who's judging people because of what their House is like in the stories?'


	9. Detention

**A/N:** **Hello all, and thanks for sticking with Greg and company thus far. This story is already written to its end, in about 20 chapters' time, and we've almost met everybody we need to meet. The plan is one chapter per day to finish this off, before kicking straight on to the sequel, which is half-written and currently afflicted by writers' block.**

 **If you're enjoying things, you can check out "The Crossroads" (a one-shot on Matt and Oscar's first year) and "Snake Bites" (Albus Potter meets Greg Bennett) over at my author page. I'd love to hear what you thought of the boys and their universe...**

'Typical,' Greg muttered as he forced himself out of his bed, the Sunday morning sunlight streaking through the lake window. 'I bet it's the last sunny day of the summer, and we get to spend the morning in detention.' He glanced to his right, watching Isaac stir under his duvet. 'Come on, Zac,' he hissed, 'get up!'

'Where... what?' Isaac stuttered, blinking his eyes open. 'Oh, yeah. Right. Detention.'

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, forlornly. 'Detention.' He cast his eyes to the old clock in the corner of the dormitory, as the snake-shaped minute hand stretched towards the bottom of its face. 'We've got half an hour,' he murmured, 'time for breakfast, at least.' He pulled a plain-looking white t-shirt over his head, before wrapping a thin sweater on top. 'Remember yours,' he added, cryptically.

'Sure,' Isaac nodded, pulling a matching shirt over his pale chest. 'I can't believe I lost it like that on Thursday,' he reflected, morosely.

Greg shrugged. 'It's happened, mate. Forget it,' He smiled, weakly, 'but maybe you should let me do the talking today?'

Isaac rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep himself from laughing quietly as he did so. 'Deal,' he grinned, following Greg past Theo's bed and out of the dormitory. Half an hour later, they had joined Glyn outside the Potions classroom.

'We might as well go inside,' Greg suggested, greeting the Welsh Hufflepuff boy as he spoke.

'I wasn't sure,' Glyn stammered, nervously.

'Slughorn's quarters are behind the classroom, aren't they?' Greg reasoned. 'He'll have no reason to come past us out here,' he concluded. 'We don't want him to think we were late.'

Glyn nodded a silent agreement.

'Oh,' Greg added, nodding towards his housemate. 'Zac's promised he's not going to say anything to Slughorn this time.'

True to Greg's prediction, the professor was waiting inside the teaching room. 'A-ha,' he smirked, 'at least you have manners enough to remember your punctuality.'

'Good morning, sir.' Greg could hear Isaac's sharp intake of breath, and he deftly stood across his friend as he spoke.

'I shall not detain you with explanations for any longer than is strictly necessary.' Slughorn's voice took on a haughty tone. 'You see, your task is very simple – even simpler than a revitalising draught.' His eyes locked onto Isaac's like a vulture, but the brown-haired boy did nothing more than stare back, his face frozen. 'These cauldrons were used yesterday by my seventh-year class to make a particularly sticky,' he paused, running his tongue around the word, 'solution. You will be cleaning them,' he announced, 'without magic. There is a sink in the corner, and I believe you know where the rags are, Mr Bennett?'

'Yes, sir,' Greg nodded, slowly.

'Well then,' the teacher clapped his hands, feigning excitement. 'Wands to me. Knock on my door when you're finished, and if the work is up to standard, then you may depart.'

'Yes, sir,' Glyn answered, holding out his own ward submissively as Greg looked back at Isaac, panicked.

'Oh, yes, my wand, sorry,' Greg stuttered, overloud, as Isaac reached down into his own trouser pocket, muttering under his breath as he did so.

'Mr Davies?' Slughorn's voice lowered, menacingly, but Isaac reached out and complied with the teacher's request. 'Excellent,' the professor smiled. 'Enjoy yourselves!' He turned on his heel, leaving the three children alone in the classroom.

'Did you manage it?' Greg hissed.

'I hope so,' Isaac nodded. 'Thanks for the distraction,' he grinned, 'I'm sure you weren't just panicking.'

'Managed what?' Glyn interrupted, tentatively. 'You're not going to get into any _more_ trouble, are you?'

'I hope not,' Greg answered. 'What do you think?' He pulled the thin sweatshirt over his head, revealing the no longer plain t-shirt beneath.

'Slytherins Stick Together,' Glyn read. 'But...'

'The t-shirts are charmed,' Greg explained before Glyn could finish his question. 'We don't, er, want to be wandering around with these on outside. Matt and Oscar helped us... they're fourth-years.'

Glyn nodded, impressed.

'Hopefully Slughorn might start to see we're different to what Slytherins have been before,' Greg continued.

'You are,' Glyn spoke quietly. 'I just wish I was different to a regular Hufflepuff,' he sighed.

Greg turned to look at Isaac, remembering his friend's remarks about the Welsh boy's sorting, but Isaac had begun to speak before Greg could make eye contact.

'How many Hufflepuffs get detention in their first week and hang out with Slytherins?' Isaac challenged. 'Exactly,' he grinned as the Hufflepuff's eyes widened. 'Now,' he continued, 'Greg, this is muggle cleaning, isn't it? You're the expert. Show us how it's done.'

'Fine,' Greg rolled his eyes, 'but you better learn quick.'

None of the first-years could work out what the stack of cauldrons had been used for the previous day, but neither did they have any reason to doubt the professor's assessment of their contents.

'He wasn't making it up when he said they were sticky, was he?' Isaac groaned as he turned off a stream of cold water from its tap. He reached up to grab a rag from the pile and stretched into the cauldron. 'This is really gonna mess our t-shirts up,' he complained.

'Well, take it off then,' Greg shrugged. 'It's not like it's cold in here.' He shook his head, pulling his arm out of a cauldron and doing as he had suggested. 'You alright, Glyn?'

'Yeah,' the Welsh boy nodded. 'They're not so dirty once you've finished with them. I'm just getting a bit wet.' He peered down inside one near-cleaned bowl. 'Do you think this is good enough?'

Greg ducked across, glancing at Glyn's work. 'Yeah, I guess so,' he reached back to his damp cloth, rubbing at one last mark on the cauldron's interior. 'That bit's just burned on; it's not coming off.'

'One down,' Glyn offered. 'How many to go?'

'Enough,' Isaac muttered, 'enough to keep us going all morning.' He sighed. 'So, your Mum plays for the Harpies, right?' He asked the Hufflepuff boy as he gazed back down into the dirty water.

'Yeah,' Glyn answered without enthusiasm.

'So you go and watch all the matches, then?' Isaac took little notice of the other boy's halfhearted reply.

'Most of them,' Glyn nodded.

'Cool,' Isaac continued between splashes. 'I saw them play Puddlemere last season,' he launched into a retelling of the match. 'The Harpies led all the way through, but they never got far enough ahead to be safe if we caught the snitch, and then Marston went and did it right in front of where I was sitting!' His voice grew quick with excitement.

'I didn't think he was going to reach it, cause it was heading towards the stands and he was running out of space, and being chased by both the Harpies beaters, and he looked like he was flying too high...' Isaac took a deep breath. 'But then, right at the last minute, he rolled upside down on the broom so that he grabbed the snitch right underneath himself... _and_ this meant that the bludgers that had been fired at him went above the broom instead. I nearly got hit on the head when I jumped up to cheer cause the bludgers kept on flying straight at me...'

'Yeah, I remember that,' Glyn sighed. 'Mum was furious. She was sure it was going to cost them a place in the Champions League.'

'They got in anyway, though, didn't they?' Isaac looked up from the cauldron in front of him.

'Yeah,' Glyn shrugged. 'They beat Tutshill on the last day, so they finished ahead of the Tornadoes.'

'Who have they got in their group?' Isaac asked. 'Ours is quite easy... Quiberon are quite good, but Tirana are never up to much. I've never even heard of Dynamo Donetsk...'

'They'll be from the Ukraine,' Greg interrupted without looking up from his own work, having decided that much of the other two boys' conversation would mean nothing to him.

'What...?' Isaac paused, surprised. 'How do you know?'

This time Greg did look up. 'Quidditch isn't the only sport with a Champions League, Zac.' He grinned. 'Donetsk have a good football team, too.'

'Oh, right,' Isaac nodded. 'I've never seen them play in the Quidditch one before,' the brown-haired boy explained. 'Have you?' He directed his question back to the Welsh boy.

'No,' the Hufflepuff agreed. 'The Harpies' group is alright, I suppose. Vratsa are probably going to win it, but I don't think Lisbon will do much. It's probably down to us or Milan Manticore for second.'

'Yeah, that sounds about right,' Isaac stood up, carrying his cauldron back to the sink to empty out the dirty water inside. 'Who are you going to support then, Greg?'

'At Quidditch?' Greg played for time by repeating his friend's question. 'Well... probably the Cannons.'

'Why?' Isaac struggled to suppress a laugh. 'You know they haven't won anything since... since...'

'So what?' Greg shrugged. 'I live in Chudleigh. I support Exeter City at football, and they're...' he paused, 'in the fifth division, but they're _my_ team, cause I've always watched them with my Dad. I'm not gonna support someone just cause they win more.'

'Fine,' Isaac turned back to his cauldron. 'Just don't complain when they keep getting thrashed every week.'

'Don't worry about it,' Greg smiled. 'Just worry about what happens if the Cannons ever beat your lot.'

'Never going to happen,' Isaac laughed.

'That's what all the Man Utd fans said when we played them last season in the Cup,' the blond boy remembered. 'They're the best team in the country,' he explained, 'but we drew, away at their ground.' He grinned. 'The next day back at school was brilliant.' He stood up, emptying the dirty water out of his own cauldron. 'So, Glyn,' he turned to the other boy. 'Do you think you're going to make the Hufflepuff team?'

Glyn looked up, dropping his cleaning cloth into the half-finished cauldron as he did so. 'What?'

'Well, you must be pretty good, right?' Greg pressed the Hufflepuff boy. 'If your Mum plays for the Harpies.'

'I'm not my Mum,' Glyn muttered, reaching back down to clean his cauldron. 'I got my flying skills from my Dad. That's what she says. He's an arithmancist.'

'Oh...' Greg bit his lip. 'Well, you can get better, if you practise,' he insisted. 'That's what we're all doing.'

'You're on the House team?' Glyn jerked upwards again.

'Yes,' Greg nodded. 'All of the first years,' he explained. 'No one else tried out... there's hardly anyone in Slytherin any more.'

Glyn sighed. 'You're so lucky...'

'Yeah,' Isaac snapped. 'Lucky to be in the House everyone hates. Lucky to get picked on in the corridors by people you don't even know. Lucky to get detention cause even our Head of House thinks we're all tossers. _Real_ lucky.'

Glyn didn't respond.

'Nice, Isaac,' Greg shook his head.

'Well?' The brown-haired boy hissed. 'Do you think we're lucky to be in Slytherin?'

'I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.'

The next hour of the boys' detention passed in a tense quiet. Isaac and Glyn barely met one another's gaze, leaving Greg caught in the middle. The Welsh boy only dared end his silence when Isaac left the room for a bathroom break.

'I didn't mean it like that,' he offered, quietly.

'I know you didn't, mate,' Greg smiled, 'and I'm sure Isaac will work it out, too. It's different for him, being from a magical family, hearing everything about Slytherin... having to cope with all of it.'

Glyn nodded, slowly. 'I think I get that,' he whispered. 'I guess it's a bit like my Mum being captain of the Harpies... and me being crap at flying.' He blushed at his language, and Greg smiled.

'Don't worry about saying that,' the blond boy grinned, recalling the conversation he had shared with Matthew in his neighbour's attic. 'Sometimes you've just got to swear,' he shrugged, 'and I've said worse, anyway.'

Glyn nodded, reassured by his friend's words. 'Could...' he hesitated, 'could I practise with you? Not when you have proper team practices,' he hurriedly corrected himself, 'just, like, if you play in your free time...'

'Yes,' Greg answered, quickly, 'sure.' He looked up as the sound of the classroom door alerted him to Isaac's return, and smiled to himself as he read the slogan on his friend's t-shirt. 'Alright, Zac,' he greeted the brown-haired boy. 'Glyn was just saying...'

'I know,' Isaac cut him off, 'I over-reacted. Like usual,' he sighed. 'Tosser.'

'No,' Greg interrupted, 'you're not. You'd be a tosser if you really meant all of it, and I know you don't. Look at your t-shirt: _Slytherins Stick Together._ '

Isaac shook his head, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling as he did so. 'Thanks, mate... and Glyn,' he turned to the Hufflepuff. 'I know what you meant... and I think you're right.'

The Welsh boy smiled.

'Come on,' Isaac insisted, 'the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here.' He pulled his shirt off again, lying it carefully on the table in front of him so that he could read the slogan as he worked. 'Let's get it done by twelve.'

'Why not?' Greg grinned. 'Let's try and do it without having another argument, too.'

The boys managed to meet one of their targets, passing the time sharing stories of Quidditch matches and, in Greg's case, football games. They weren't far from their other goal, either: Greg knocked on the teacher's door as the grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck midday. 'Professor,' he announced, his sweater covering the charmed t-shirt beneath, 'we're done.'

Slughorn answered the boy's knock, waddling through the double door and back out into the Potions classroom. 'Well...' he peered into the pile of cleaned cauldrons, searching for any grime that remained 'Not bad,' he muttered, 'not bad for a first attempt. I suppose I can let you off now.' He turned to face the three children, only to see that the two Slytherin boys had removed their sweatshirts to reveal the messages beneath. 'What...' he stammered. 'What is the meaning of this?'

Greg swallowed, feeling his heart beginning to thud against his ribcage. 'We know what happened to Slytherin,' he began, taking a deep breath as he steeled himself to continue. 'We know what happened in the war, and after the war, and what happened to the House. We know why no one gets sorted here any more. We know why everyone hates us.'

The professor stuttered, but Greg kept on speaking.

'I'm muggle-born. So is Theo Forrest, who's my best – one of my best friends,' he glanced at Isaac as he spoke, who nodded back encouragingly. 'Matt Sawyer and Oscar Symons are muggle-born too, they're fourth-years, and they're Quidditch Captain and Vice-Captain. There's no one left who was here when the war ended. ' He paused for a moment. 'The hat said we were here because we were ambitious, cause we were cunning, cause we were resourceful: but that doesn't mean we have to be tos-' he corrected his language in front of the teacher, 'idiots about it.' He took a final breath. 'We want to make Slytherin _our_ House, Professor, but we need you to help us do it.'

The teacher gazed, dumbfounded, back at Greg and his friends as the blond boy finished speaking. 'Well...' he shook his head. 'Never in all my years...' He turned, stumbling back towards the double doors that led to his quarters. 'Come this way, boys,' he beckoned them. 'I think I need a sit down.'

Slughorn collapsed into the dark, yawning leather of a wide sofa. 'Muggle-born, you say?'

Greg nodded firmly. 'Yes,' he confirmed, 'me and Theo in the first year, and Oscar and Matt in the fourth year.'

The professor shook his head again, reaching for the squat glass atop a decanter of brandy and filling it to its brim. 'This House is truly not what it once was.'

'Is that a bad thing?' Isaac snapped a challenge as he heard Slughorn's words.

'Shhh!' Greg nudged his friend in the ribs. 'Remember last time...' He turned back to the teacher. 'Sometimes, Isaac sort of...'

'Speaks without thinking.' Isaac gazed down at his feet as he completed his friend's description. 'Like I when I got us all detention yesterday.'

Slughorn nodded, taking a gulp of his brandy. 'Yet even so, you say the hat told you this was the right place for you?'

'Yes,' Greg repeated the things he had been told on his first evening, both by the hat itself and by Theo in the boys' dormitory afterwards. 'It said that I was drawn to Slytherin.'

'It said I needed to avoid my sister,' Isaac added his own story. 'She's in Gryffindor.'

'What about you?' Slughorn turned his gaze towards a surprised Glyn.

'I'm in Hufflepuff,' the third boy managed a nervous reply. 'I'm only here cause...'

'He's here cause he's our friend,' Greg decided he didn't want to hear whatever explanation Glyn's nerves might have come up with. 'Yes,' he repeated. 'He's our friend, and he's in Hufflepuff.'

'Merlin...' the old teacher shook his head once again. 'You certainly have no time for traditions, do you, boys?'

'Not if the traditions come from hundreds of years of rubbish,' Greg was surprised to hear the intensity of his own voice as he spoke.

Slughorn chuckled. 'Some of the finest students of this very school have been muggle-born. Indeed, perhaps the very best I ever taught... before she found herself the most powerful of enemies...'

'Voldemort?'

The professor nodded, sadly. 'The worst of Slytherin House. The sickening image that the world still sees when they hear our name.'

'Which is why we have to make things change,' Greg insisted. 'You said yourself that we are not like Slytherins once were.'

'Yes, boy,' the teacher grimaced, 'but it is all very well simply saying these grand words, when the path you wish to tread will be tougher than you imagine.'

'It's the right path to choose, though,' Greg remembered his conversation with the sorting hat once again. 'A wise man, a great Headmaster of this very school, once said that it was not our abilities – but our choices – that made us who we truly were.'

Slughorn smiled, sadly. 'A great man indeed. A man who also counselled that we should choose what was right, rather than what was easy.' The professor sighed. 'I fear, boys, that I have too often opted for ease over right, and that is a shame to Albus' memory.' He poured a second glass of brandy. 'I do not pretend to know the path you must take, but I will do what I can to guide you on your way.'

'Thank you, sir,' Greg smiled, bowing briefly as a wave of gratitude swept over him. 'Now, I have one last question,' he swallowed. 'I know the school rules say that first-years cannot have their _own_ brooms, but there isn't anything that says we can't borrow school brooms to use in our free time, is there?'

'Some things about my House have changed, that is for certain.' A thin smile creased Slughorn's wrinkled face. 'Yet it seems that others have not. Rules,' the man grinned, 'have only ever been as good as the person who wrote them.'

'Yes! Come on!' Isaac grinned, hurrying down the great stone steps that led beyond the castle doors. 'We did it!' He leapt from the base of the staircase, punching the air emphatically before turning to watch the other boys follow him.

'Yeah,' Greg muttered, 'and it only cost us four hours of scrubbing cauldron bottoms.' He rolled his eyes, reaching out to shove his friend in the shoulder. 'Brilliant...'

'Is that what it was all about?' Glyn asked quietly as he caught the other first-years. 'You guys getting brooms to practice on?' He shivered, despite the late summer sun. 'That's all I got into detention for?'

'No, Glyn,' Greg protested, shaking his head as the Hufflepuff boy edged backwards. 'That was just lucky. I never expected him to say yes...'

The Welsh boy stared back, unconvinced by the explanation he'd just heard. 'How come you wanted to talk to Slughorn in the first place, then? What else did you want?'

'Um...' Greg hesitated. 'Just to talk about the House...'

'Hey! Davies!' A sudden shout cut off Glyn's chance to reply, and the two Slytherins swung around to identify its source.

'Dawlish...' Isaac muttered. 'Just who we wanted to see.'

'What are you hanging around with Hufflepuffs for?' The spiky-haired boy, his shirt unbuttoned along the front, swaggered towards the other first-years. 'Not trying to curse them, are you?'

Isaac glared at the Gryffindor boy, letting his housemate answer for him.

'Is that meant to be funny?' Greg narrowed his eyes. 'Cause, even for you, that's bloody stupid. Why the hell would anyone do that in the middle of the lawn, in full view of the whole castle?'

'Oh,' Holly Davies reached a bare arm around Dawlish's shoulders, simpering. 'So you _are_ going to curse him, but you're just waiting for somewhere quieter to do it?'

'Piss off,' Isaac snapped at his sister.

'I don't know, Holly,' a third Gryffindor, the pale, freckled boy whose name Greg couldn't remember, interrupted the conversion. 'I reckon if he was gonna curse him, he'd have done it this morning,' the boy nonchalantly slid his hands into the pockets of his cotton shirts, exaggerating the unbuttoned shirt he'd copied from Dawlish, 'in detention.'

Holly squealed in delight. 'Isaac's got detention! Isaac's got detention!' she trilled. 'Imagine what mother will have to say,' she sneered, pausing to whisper in Dawlish's ear before the three Gryffindors turned to leave.

'How do they know...?' Isaac stuttered, stumbling to sit on the base of the great staircase. 'Luc and Theo are the only others who we told... you haven't told anyone, have you?' He looked up, suddenly, at Glyn.

'No!' The Hufflepuff snapped. 'Why would I?' He took a step towards Isaac and lowered his voice, shaking. 'I haven't told anyone, anyone at all.'

'Alright, Glyn,' Greg reasoned, holding an arm out between his two friends, 'I believe you. It's just that Holly is Zac's sister...'

'Oh,' the Welsh boy swallowed, remembering their conversation inside the Potions classroom that morning. 'I guess the Professor was right about this not being easy.' He shook his head, turning away from the two Slytherins at the very same moment as another first-year rounded the tight corner in the path that led to the main entrance of the castle.

'Glyn!' The boy exclaimed, almost knocking the Hufflepuff over. 'I've been looking everywhere for you! Where have you been?' He brushed his hand over his cropped, dark hair, reaching for a thick, yellow towel slung over his left shoulder. 'We're all going down to the Lake, to, to...' His hand snatched at towel, knocking it from his pale brown shoulder as he noticed the two Slytherin boys. 'Glyn...' He whispered, as his face paled. 'Did you know...'

'Yes!' Greg snapped, overhearing the newcomer's warning. 'Of course he knew we were here! What did you think, that we had made ourselves invisible and were about to lure him to his death?' He swore, kicking the gravel away beneath his feet as he glared at the darker-skinned boy.

The newcomer took a step backwards, glancing nervously between Greg and Glyn, only to catch his foot against his own crumpled towel and trip untidily backwards.

'Jai...' Glyn sighed, squatting down beside the other boy. 'Yes, I knew they were there.' He helped his friend to his feet, before virtually dragging him towards the two Slytherins and taking a deep breath. 'This is Greg, and this is Zac... and we were in detention together this morning.' He turned back to the other boy. 'This is Jai Clarke. He's in Hufflepuff with me.'

Jai looked blankly between the three other first-years, shaking his head as he did so. 'I don't get it...' he muttered.

'It's not difficult,' Glyn insisted. 'Unless you think that because they're in Slytherin it means they've got to be Death Eaters?' He remembered his own first awkward meeting with Greg.

'B... but...'

'Look, mate,' the blond Slytherin interrupted, a grin starting to inch across his face. 'Don't say anything stupid now. We'll just take the piss out of you about it for the next seven years.' He paused, watching Jai's tense expression, before turning back to Glyn. 'Is _everyone_ going to be like this?'

'Probably.' The Welsh boy shrugged. 'I guess it will get easier, though.'

'Yeah,' Greg smiled, ironically, 'I suppose so. Well,' he changed the subjected, 'we're going to go and meet the other Slytherins. See you later, yeah?'

Glyn nodded, emphatically. 'Yeah,' he grinned. 'Definitely.' He turned around, nudging Jai in the back as he led his housemate away. 'Look,' the Slytherin boys heard him begin to explain, 'saying they're all evil is like saying all Indian boys can't play Quidditch.'

'I'm _half_ -Indian!' Jai mustered the energy to argue back, 'and I _can_ play Quidditch...'

'Bloody hell...' Greg shook his head, sitting down beside Isaac. 'I see why so many people go for what's easy.'


	10. Tregeagle

'Here they come, then.' Oscar noticed the two first-years making their way across the castle grounds towards the other Slytherins' chosen haunt, squatting beside the lowest of the greenhouses.

'Hey, over here!' Theo stood up, beckoning his friends towards the towels that lay across a yellow-green corner of the grassed lawn, and spinning his rugby ball towards Greg. 'Catch!'

Greg lifted his hands up, claiming the ball in front of his eyes. 'Easy,' he grinned, before untidily lobbing it back to his friend.

'How was detention?' Matthew failed to suppress a smile as he lifted his head from the shirt that was serving as a makeshift pillow. 'I didn't think first-years could get them in their first week.'

Greg shook his head, before turning back to Theo and holding his hands up in front of his chest, gesturing for a pass. The other blond boy understood in an instant, popping the ball back up and allowing Greg to slam it, end-first, down onto Matthew's stomach.

'Hey!' The fourth-year protested, pushing himself up to his feet and running a tentative hand over the reddening mark the rugby ball had left on his tanned skin.

'You did ask for that, Matt,' Oscar grinned.

'Whose side are you on?' Matthew kicked his friend gently on the shin.

Oscar rolled away. 'Not yours, if you're gonna do that!' He laughed, pushing himself up. 'Greg, pass the ball?'

'Wait!' Theo interrupted. 'There's enough of us for a game of touch.'

'Of what?' More than one of the other boys echoed back, the two fourth-years still eyeing one another suspiciously.

'Touch rugby,' Theo continued. 'Three against three. One end of the pitch can down there, between those trees, and the other can be down here.' He pulled his t-shirt over his head, marking one corner of the playing area. 'Matt, pass us your top?' He jogged over to the other corner. 'We can play shirts against skins – me, you and, uh, Zac take.'

'What are the rules?' Isaac asked.

'Easy,' Theo laughed, picking up the rugby ball and spinning it to himself. 'You can only pass it backwards, if someone tags you – two hands on your waist – you have to stop and pass.'

'How do we get the ball off the other team, then?' Matthew asked. 'If you can't tackle them like in real rugby?'

'When they drop it,' Theo answered, 'or if you intercept their passes.' He spun the ball up to himself again. 'So, are we going to play or not?'

'Sure,' Matthew shrugged, looking back to Oscar and then to Greg. 'Why not?'

'Cool,' Theo grinned. 'Come on then, Matt, Zac, we'll start down this end. Zac, you need to take your shirt off.' He beckoned the other boys. 'We'll start with the ball...'

The three muggle-born boys had each played a little rugby as they grew up, but it quickly became apparent that Theo was a much better player than any of them. Not only did he rarely, if ever, fumble the ball, but he could seemingly deceive his opponents at will, shaping to go one way but then darting the other. Even as the score mounted, and the boys switched teams around, Theo still managed to find ways of beating the older boys.

'Rule change!' Greg announced as his friend jinked towards him once again. 'Proper rugby! Get him!' He threw himself towards the other boy, and the other Slytherins – whether or not they were Theo's team mates – joined in the scramble.

'Hey!' Theo yelled, dropping the ball and curling up as he defended himself. 'That's not fair!'

'So?' Oscar grinned. 'Neither's watching you score every thirty seconds!' He relented, giving the first-year room to breathe before the other children followed suit, leaving the blond boy gasping for air.

'Are you alright?' Greg crouched down beside Theo, watching his friend cough.

'Should be...' he spluttered. 'Asthma...'

Greg nodded. 'Come on, let's go to lunch,' he suggested, reaching out to grab Theo's t-shirt from the grass beside him, and suddenly remembering the stories his friend had told him about his old school. 'Sorry...'

'Don't,' Theo coughed. 'It's not your fault. You didn't know,' he wiped the back of his arm across his eyes, 'but thanks.' He smiled, weakly.

'That's okay,' Greg nodded. 'Slytherins stick together.' The two blond boys followed their housemates back through the grounds, towards the Great Hall and their Sunday lunch. 'Matt? Ossie?' The first-year asked as he slid in beside his friends on the House table. 'What's Professor Tregeagle like?'

Oscar paused, halfway through a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding. 'Haven't you had him yet?' He mumbled through the food.

'No,' Greg answered, 'he wasn't here last Monday – we had to read the textbook instead, and write an essay about the importance of knowing about the Dark Arts today... or something like that.' He tailed off as he noticed the other first-years grin at one another. 'What?'

'Trust you to remember the whole title of the essay,' Isaac laughed. 'I bet you get an E.'

'Hey!' Greg snapped. 'I worked really hard at that! I won't get an E!'

Matthew coughed loudly, almost choking on his half-swallowed carrots. 'It's alright, mate,' he managed, stifling his own laughter. 'There's nothing wrong with an E.'

'It means Exceeds Expectations,' Lucas explained, 'it's the second-best grade. It goes Outstanding – Exceeds Expectations – Acceptable – Poor – Dreadful – Troll.'

'Matt got a T on a History essay last term,' Oscar added. 'What did Binns put? Something about sounding like a muggle fairytale, not real history?'

'He was right,' Matthew shrugged. 'The question was about King Arthur, and I just wrote about _The Sword in the Stone_...'

This time it was the turn of the two muggle-born first-years to snort with amusement, but Greg wasn't so easily distracted from his original question. 'You still haven't said what Tregeagle's like yet,' he pestered.

'He's alright, I guess,' Matthew answered, disinterestedly. 'He knows his stuff. Not much fun, but you'll learn from him... not like that useless ghost.'

'He is Head of Gryffindor, though,' Oscar added. 'I guess it might be different if you have Defence with them... we've always had it with the Ravenclaws. I suppose he just teaches it like it's just Ravenclaw, and we're not even there.'

'I bet it would be different if you had it with the Hufflepuffs, too,' Matthew continued. 'Now,' he held up his wand, 'can anyone tell me what this is?'

'That's not fair,' Isaac protested. 'You sound like Dawlish.' He glared at the fourth-year. 'Glyn's not stupid. You can't judge someone by their House, you know that.'

'Dawlish...?' Matthew looked back at the younger boy, blankly. 'Glyn?'

'Dawlish is the jerk in Gryffindor who thinks he can out-fly us,' Isaac spat, 'and Glyn...' He looked across the dining table to the other first-years. 'I guess we should tell you the full story of how we ended up in detention.'

'Slughorn's right,' Oscar summarised as the first-years finished their retelling. 'You couldn't be much further from Slytherin traditions.' He laughed. 'Good work.'

The Defence against the Dark Arts classroom was a long, narrow room at the base of Gryffindor tower. The desks sat in rows of four across the centre, with enough room for a person to edge past either end, whilst at the front a single desk sat beneath half of a glass crucible. A semi-circular arc of cupboards enclosed the professor's table, stacked high with jars and artefacts. Racks of heavy books filled the far end of the room, and on the walls between there sat an army of stuffed heads, ranging from the common Crup and Kneazle through to a series of exotic beasts that even Lucas had never imagined.

Professor Tregeagle marched through the classroom door at half past eleven prompt on a damp Monday morning that felt all the colder for the previous afternoon's heat. 'Sit,' the teacher commanded, before continuing as the class filed into the room, the Slytherin boys sitting together on a row in its middle. Professor Tregeagle was of medium height, with knotted grey hair on a gnarled face that had browned to a similar colour as Glyn's friend Jai, although the teacher had no trace of Indian blood. He wore simple but neat black robes with golden trim and his boots knocked purposefully against the wooden classroom floor.

'I have marked these essays, and it has to be said they are of variable quality. Some are perfectly sound,' he announced, handing back two sheets of parchment, one to the freckle-faced Gryffindor who hung around with Holly Davies and Spencer Dawlish, and another to Greg, a tidy "E-" marking the top corner.

'Told you,' Isaac mouthed as the teacher continued with his review.

'Others range from adequate to, quite frankly, appalling.' He dropped a sheet on Theo's table, the "D" grade clearly visible. 'I suggest quillmanship lessons may be in order, although given the parts I could decipher, I'm not sure I wanted to read the rest.' Theo's head slumped to the table, hidden behind his crossed arms, but Tregeagle continued, unconcerned whether the Slytherin was listening or not. 'Yours wasn't the worst, however,' he rounded on Ciaran Abercrombie. 'Verse?'

A couple of Gryffindors caught their sniggers as the professor's icy eyes bored into the pale, sandy-haired boy.

' _Rhyming_ Verse?' Tregeagle repeated. 'The Dark Arts are serious business, boy.' He dropped the parchment on Ciaran's desk, letting the first-year's eyes settle on the "T" grade before muttering, 'Incendio,' and watching the work burn in front of him. 'To be repeated this week, alongside the rest of your assignments.' He turned his back on Ciaran, sitting alone at the end of the row of desks behind the Slytherins, and strode back to the front of the class. 'Now,' he intoned, 'I am sorry for my absence last week, but these things are unavoidable when one is an authority on Dark Magic as I am. Now, we will begin with the most fundamental part of Defence: knowing your enemy.' He paused, dramatically. 'Who are your enemies?'

'Death Eaters,' Spencer Dawlish smirked, turning around to stare at the Slytherin boys as he spoke, but none of the four reacted with anything more than a roll of their eyes, and the professor's cough was enough to snap Dawlish's head back to the front of the room.

'A decade ago, Mr Dawlish, perhaps,' Tregeagle dismissed his suggestion, 'but the last of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban, and there is not going to be another breakout.'

Isaac glanced left and right, wondering whether Lucas, by way of his family's history, or Greg – through his hard work on the previous week's essay – would raise their hand, but there was not even a flicker of understanding on either boy's face.

In the end, the quiet was disturbed by the Gryffindor boy who, like Greg, had received an "E" for his first piece of homework. 'Anyone could be your enemy.'

'Correct indeed,' the professor nodded, before adding in an undertone, 'not that I would expect anything less from you. Dark Magic comes from everywhere. Yes, some schools and some Houses have a reputation for turning out more than their fair share of Dark wizards,' he eyed the Slytherin boys, 'but no man will ever be born who is free of the impulses that drive us towards the dark. I cannot stand here today and say which of you will dabble in the Dark Arts, but within the year I will know enough about you to foresee how you are inclined. I will know which spells you favour, what magic you underestimate, where your weaknesses lie, and, because of this, how to defeat you in a duel.' He snapped his wand from a thin leather holster around his waist, like a gunman from a Western movie, and stared coldly across the silenced classroom. 'Knowledge, children, is power, and the best way to attain it will never change. This is one lesson I learned early on in my life: CONSTANT VIGILANCE.'

'He doesn't mess about, does he?' Isaac helped himself to a serving of steak and kidney pie as the four Slytherin first-years clustered around one end of their House table that lunchtime.

'Matt was right,' Lucas added, 'he knows his stuff.' The red-haired boy nodded. 'What he said about Dark being everywhere, Dark artefacts that are more powerful than you could ever imagine, things you can't even tell are Dark.'

'I don't like him,' Theo muttered, quietly.

'That's only cause he gave you a "D", isn't it?' Isaac nudged his friend.

'No,' Theo glowered, 'but he didn't have to say it in front of the whole class, or tell everyone I couldn't write properly.'

'Fine,' Isaac argued, 'but at least he says what he thinks, and isn't biased. You heard what he said to Ciaran Abercrombie, didn't you?

Theo nodded. 'Doesn't make it alright, though, does it?'

'Could be a lot worse,' Isaac shrugged, but Theo shook his head, turning back to stare at his lunch.

'That still doesn't make it fair,' he sighed, prodding a fluffy ball of mashed potato with his fork.

'I guess you'll just have to do your homework properly, Theo,' Greg offered.

'Easy for you to say,' the other blond boy groaned, 'and anyway, he'll still have a go at me about my handwriting.'

'Well,' Greg was undeterred, 'remember what you said about rugby? You can't get good at anything without practising it.'

Theo winced. 'I hope I'm good at the spells,' he shuddered. 'I don't want to spend all night on this every Monday.'

'We've got a study lesson this afternoon: you can get started with it then,' Greg reasoned. 'at least he's not making you do it again, like Abercrombie's got to.' He glanced up and across the hall to the Gryffindor table. 'He's not having a good start, is he?'

'I wonder how he'll do in flying tomorrow?' Lucas thought out loud.

'What's it to us?' Isaac asked. 'I wonder what Dawlish will say about the worst flier in the class being a Gryffindor?'

'As much as I will, I reckon,' Greg answered, firmly. 'Nothing. I'm not going to start behaving like that git. He'll find plenty of things to have a go at us about without us giving him anything else.'

'I wasn't going to say that to his face,' Isaac protested.

'Yeah, but still...' Lucas remembered the last lesson, 'he doesn't need reminding of it. Merlin knows, I didn't.'

Isaac blushed, remembering the careless insult he had tossed Lucas' way during their first Quidditch practice. 'Yeah,' he agreed, 'you're right.'

With the first-years having met all of their new professors, they began to settle in to the routine of the new school year. The following morning's flying lessons saw the boys' predictions fulfilled – both their pessimistic forecasts about Ciaran's flying and their expectations of Dawlish's reactions.

Lucas was particularly pleased to see Spencer's mute reaction as the spiky-haired Gryffindor watched all four Slytherin boys take off and hover together, leaving Ciaran as the only pupil on the ground as Professor Wood's lesson began to concentrate on braking techniques.

'Do you want some help?' Lucas brought himself to halt a handful of inches from Ciaran's stationary broom.

'No,' the Gryffindor boy shook his head, his eyes narrow. 'I'm fine. I don't need Slytherin help.'

'Fine,' Lucas snapped, 'and you'll never get it now.' He pushed off, angrily, back towards the other Slytherins. 'You'll never believe what he said,' the redhead repeated Ciaran's rejection. 'That's the last time I feel sorry for him. I hope Tregeagle sets his next essay on fire, too.'

'Hey, calm down, Luc,' Greg tried to temper his friend's frustration. 'Would you have said yes if you were him? What would Dawlish have said to him later?'

'Greg, for Merlin's sake,' Isaac rolled his eyes. 'Why do you have to be so bloody _reasonable_ all of the time? I bet if Voldemort showed up again, you would just say he only hated everyone because he was an orphan, and we should give him a second chance.'

'Shut up, Zac,' Greg groaned, listening to his friends laugh and trying to force a smile onto own his lips that wasn't reflected in eyes. 'Why don't you make yourself useful and tell us if your uncle ever told you any other ways of braking?'

Isaac had begun to shake his head when the flicker of a memory looped back across his mind. 'Well,' he hesitated, 'there was one move he showed us once... it was like a spinning stop. You know how Wood talked about taking your momentum up, and out of the broom? Well it's a bit like what we've been doing, taking the momentum away from the direction we're going, but instead of sitting up gently you do it all of a sudden, and then throw yourself back onto the broom, twisting in the opposite direction.' He demonstrated the movements whilst sitting, almost stationary, on his own broom.

'A bit like a handbrake turn?' Theo suggested.

'What's a handbrake turn?' Isaac sat up.

'On a car,' the muggle-born boy explained. 'When you lock up the wheels and make it skid round on itself real quickly.'

'Oh,' Isaac shrugged, 'I don't know. This does get you facing the other way pretty fast, though... and it can be really messy if you get it wrong.'

'Like a handbrake turn, then,' Theo laughed. 'So are you going to show us it for real?'

'Well...' Isaac played for time. 'I haven't tried it for ages. I don't know if I can remember how to do it properly.' He paused, before breathing a sigh of relief as Professor Wood's whistle signalled the end of the lesson. 'Maybe tonight at practice.'

'You'd better,' Theo grinned, before turning his broom to follow Isaac back towards the teacher, with Lucas behind him and Greg trailing at the back of the group.

Greg was still lagging behind the other Slytherins later that morning as they made their way to the Transfiguration classroom. In fact, by the time that he and Theo reached the front door of the airy room, they realised the four-person table the Slytherins had filled the week before was already taken.

'Zac and Lucas could have saved us something...' Theo began to complain, before looking across the room to realise that the other two first-years were cramped onto a small table in one corner.

'It doesn't matter,' Greg shrugged. 'I don't need to hear Zac telling me I'd make excuses for Voldemort again. We can sit with Glyn and Jai.' He ambled through the room, dumping his satchel on a round table opposite the two Hufflepuff boys and studiously ignoring the surprised glances from the other children. 'Alright, Glyn?' He asked, forcibly casually. 'Hi, Jai.'

'Hi,' Glyn nodded, tentatively.

'You okay?' Greg asked.

'Yeah,' the Welsh boy answered, mechanically, as Jai twisted his head away, straining to hear a whispered conversation behind his left shoulder. 'Fine.'

'What do you think we'll be doing today?' The Slytherin tried to make conversation.

'Don't know,' Glyn didn't return the blond boy's gaze, staring down determinedly towards his feet.

'What's wrong with you?' Greg growled. 'Why aren't you even looking at me?' He hauled his parchment out of the satchel onto the table top.

'Um, Greg...' Theo tugged his friend's robe, but the other boy knocked his hand away, standing over Glyn as he grabbed hold of his quill and inkwell.

'Mr Bennett,' a cold voice silenced the classroom, and Greg turned to see its owner, Minerva McGonagall, standing in the classroom doorway. 'I would ask you what exactly you were planning to do to Mr Jones with those, but I fear I do not wish to find out the answer. Ten points from Slytherin. Now please return to your seat.'

Greg slumped back onto his chair, letting the inkwell fall to the table with a clatter as he hid his head under his arms and shivering as he realised what the Headmistress had just seen. She must have thought he was about to attack Glyn, he reasoned as the sharp blast of tears hit the back of his eyes. 'You tosser,' he whispered to himself as he felt the moisture flood his eyelids, ignoring Theo's worried nudges on his left arm. Whatever good work he had done in the last week must have been undone in a single stroke. He drew his arms ever more tightly around his head, hiding himself from the inevitable stares of those around him and blocking out any of their words.

'Well done,' Theo hissed sarcastically, fixing his glare on Glyn once the volume of the classroom crept upwards as the children began a section of practical work. 'Some friend you are.'

Glyn shook his head. 'I don't know what you mean...'

'Oh, shut up,' Theo snarled under his breath. 'You know exactly what I mean. Greg thought you were his friend, and you won't even look at him.'

'I didn't mean to...' Glyn sighed.

Theo snorted. 'Oh, yeah, right. I heard what you were whispering about,' he nodded his head towards a table of Hufflepuffs behind Jai, turning his gaze to the half-Indian boy. 'I bet you won't let him stay friends with you if he talks to us.' He recalled his time at his last school, feeling a burning dislike building towards the second Hufflepuff.

'No,' Jai began to protest, his soft accent quelling part of Theo's anger. 'That's not true...'

Theo took a deep breath, willing himself to concentrate as he chose his next words, knowing that one slip could turn his criticism into racism and land himself in even deeper trouble than his housemate. 'What if I said all Indians were like that – that they never treated anyone who was different like an equal? Would that be alright?'

'No!' Jai protested, 'that's racist!'

'I thought so,' Theo steadied himself. 'I was just wondering what the difference was between doing that and saying no-one can talk to Slytherins?'

Jai swallowed. 'I need to go to the toilet.' He stood up, leaving Glyn and Theo to stare at one another across the table.

'Well?' Theo knew there was no compassion in his voice; no easy way out for the Hufflepuff boy to take. 'What's the difference?'

'I...' Glyn stuttered, 'I don't think there is one.'

'Fine,' Theo continued. 'I'm glad we agree.' He shook his head coldly, turning back to the open textbook on his desk and the page on basic vanishing spells.

'Greg,' he nudged his friend on the arm for what must have been the dozenth time. 'Come on, it doesn't matter what that tosser says. You've got to have a go at the lesson,' he lowered his voice. 'I can't do it on my own.'

Greg roused himself, slowly, blinking the moisture away from his still-raw eyes and casting a withering glare across the table towards Glyn before turning, wordlessly, away from the Hufflepuff. 'Okay,' he nodded. 'Thanks for sticking up for me.'

'You'd have done the same,' Theo shrugged, awkwardly changing the subject. 'It's page 28. We're supposed to be vanishing these old knuts,' he explained. 'If we get good at it, do you think we could vanish those Hufflepuffs?'

Glyn winced as he heard Greg laughing at Theo's joke. Jai had shown no sign of returning swiftly from the toilets, leaving the Welsh boy sitting on his own opposite the two Slytherins, staring morosely at his own ancient knut and listening to the other boys' laughter.

'Evanesco,' he muttered, stabbing his wand arm towards the bronze coin on top of the desk. 'Evanesco, Evanesco, Evanesco!' A burst of white light jumped out of his wand, only to evaporate as it came into contact with the money. 'Oh, come on!' He exclaimed, reaching out with his left hand and lifting the knut towards his eyes so that he could examine it more closely. 'One Nut,' he read the remaining inscription to himself. 'I vanished one letter...' He dropped the coin again, twisting around to peer towards the doorway of the classroom, and wondering whether to follow his housemate towards the restrooms, only for his attention to be pulled back to the other side of the table.

'Bloody hell, you did it!' Theo exclaimed, blinking as he stared at the space on the table where Greg's coin had sat moments ago. He reached forward, searching with his fingertips for any sign of any remains. 'You really did it!'

'How?' Glyn couldn't stop himself from blurting out a simple question.

'Like I'd tell you,' Greg's eyes narrowed, acknowledging the Welsh boy's presence for the first time since the teacher had entered. 'Read the book, find out for yourself.' He lowered his voice, whispering his explanation to Theo and leaving Glyn to stare at page 28, until a clatter to his right told him that Jai had returned.

'Are you alright?' Glyn whispered.

'Not really,' Jai shook his head. 'I just threw up.'

Glyn's eyes bulged wide. 'Do you need to go to the hospital wing?

'No,' Jai answered firmly, shaking his head again. 'I'm not ill,' he lowered his voice. 'It was cause of what he said,' the Hufflepuff took a deep breath. 'I think he's right.'

Glyn sighed, letting his own voice drop to a hushed whisper. 'I know he is.' The Welsh boy looked back across the table to the two Slytherins. 'Greg,' he called, quietly. 'Greg?'

'Get lost,' The blond boy didn't look up from his Transfiguration textbook.

'Greg,' the Hufflepuff tried again, 'please...'

'No. Go away.'

'But...'

'No!'

'Greg...'

'What part of "no" don't you understand?' The Slytherin looked up for the first time, hissing his answer. 'Seriously! Piss off!'

Glyn sunk back down in his seat as he heard the other boy's bad language. 'He won't listen to me,' he protested, quietly, to his friend.

'Maybe if you wrote it down?' Jai suggested, tearing a loose sheet of parchment in two and pushing the scraps towards the brown-haired boy.

'Alright,' Glyn hid one of the halves of paper beneath a page of Transfiguration notes, furtively scrawling a short message and sliding it across the desk towards the Slytherins.

'Incendio,' Greg muttered, remembering the Defence Professor's demonstration the previous morning, and watching the parchment spark alight before quickly crumpling to ash as a snatch of smoke escaped into the high classroom.

Theo craned his neck around, searching for Professor McGonagall and hoping the teacher would dismiss the burst as nothing more than a vanishing spell gone wrong, which she seemed to do as she strode away towards Lucas and Isaac's table. 'Careful...' he whispered. 'You've already lost ten points.'

'That's not all I've lost,' the other Slytherin snapped, his gaze never leaving his parchment. Theo sighed, looking back across the table to the two Hufflepuff boys – one with his head hidden in his hands, and the other nervously nudging his friend's elbow. It was, he realised suddenly, exactly the same position that he and Greg had been in a few minutes before. Tearing off a sheet of his own parchment, he scribbled an untidy message before passing the sheet across to Jai, who nodded quickly, still trying to stir his friend.

'Glyn,' he whispered, 'come on. The other boy says he'll read it.'

The Welsh Hufflepuff looked up, slowly, staring back across the table at Theo, who did his best to smile encouragingly. 'Okay,' he sighed, reaching for the second scrap of parchment and lethargically scribing his message again, handing it on to Jai who passed it over to Theo.

'Greg,' Theo pushed the fringe of his white-blond hair away from his eyes.

'What?'

'I think you should listen to this.'

'Do I have to?'

'Please...'

'Fine,' Greg sniffed.

'Thank you,' Theo cleared his throat. 'Dear Greg,' he began. 'I'm sorry for acting like that and ignoring you. You were right. Other people had told me not to talk to you – but you wanted to be my friend because of who I am, not who my Mum is. I should never have listened to them. Sorry for being a tosser.'

As Theo stopped reading, Greg looked from his friend back to the Hufflepuff boy, who bit his lip as he gazed back, red-eyed. 'You're not a tosser,' Greg stuttered. 'It's not your fault if other people said that to you.'

'It's still my fault that I ignored you,' Glyn whispered, 'and that you lost those points.'

'It doesn't matter,' Greg managed a thin smile. 'As long I haven't lost one of my friends.'

Glyn managed to return the Slytherin boy's smile. 'I'm going to tell McGonagall why you were angry with me,' he explained.

'You don't have to,' Greg shook his head, 'it's alright. The points don't matter that much. We're not going to win the House Cup.'

'So what?' Glyn wouldn't be dissuaded. 'It's not fair otherwise. I bet she wouldn't have taken points off me if it was the other way round.'

'What if you're wrong, though?' Theo asked. 'What if she decides to take points off Hufflepuff as well as us?'

'Well,' Glyn swallowed, 'then I'll be even less popular than I'm going to be anyway.'

Theo nodded slowly, stunned by the other boy's answer. 'What about you?' He turned, brusquely, to the darker-skinned Hufflepuff.

'My name's Jai,' the boy answered, 'and... and I think Glyn's right. Hufflepuffs are supposed to be fair and loyal and that is what he's being.'

'Cool,' Theo nodded again. 'I'm sorry if I offended you before,' he stumbled over his words, 'with what I said about Indians. I don't really think that. I'm not racist.'

'It's okay,' Jai shrugged. 'I never thought you did mean it. You were right about everything else, though.'

'Greg?' Glyn interrupted, with a nervous grin. 'Could you help us with the Transfiguration now?'

'You may leave,' Professor McGonagall concluded the lesson with a final demonstration of a more complex spell, Vanishing the blackboard in front of the children as they finished copying down their homework. As the majority of the boys and girls made for the exits, Glyn led three other pupils towards the teacher's desk.

'P... Professor?' He stuttered.

'Yes, Mr Jones?' McGonagall peered over the rims of her spectacles towards the Welsh boy, whose face grew redder as he began to trip over his next sentence.

'You see, I just wanted to say, that at the beginning of the lesson... you know, when you took ten points off of Greg... that wasn't his fault. I know he was angry but that was my fault.' He took a deep breath as the stream of words came more quickly. 'I was ignoring him because the others in my House said I shouldn't talk to him because he's a Slytherin but he's my friend and I shouldn't just have ignored him because of what House he's in...' He looked at the floor, acutely aware of his burning cheeks.

Professor McGonagall smiled. 'I had heard rumour that Mr Bennett was not a typical Slytherin,' she turned to the blond-haired boy, 'and so I was particularly disappointed to see his behaviour at the beginning of this lesson.'

'He never hit me, Professor,' Glyn started to protest again. 'He would never have... and he helped me, helped us all, with the Vanishing spell. He is my friend, really.'

'Calm down, Mr Jones, do please calm down.' The professor sat down, bringing her eyes level with the Hufflepuff's own and placing her hand on his shoulder. 'I believe you. I did see that you all Vanished your knuts by the end of the lesson, although you could have come and asked for some sickles and galleons had you wished.' Her eyes twinkled.

'Will you give him the points back?' Glyn asked, suddenly aware that he wasn't far away from crying in front of the Headmistress, and wiped his eyes with the back of his arm.

'I can,' Professor McGonagall nodded, 'and I can do better still. Ten more, apiece, to Slytherin and Hufflepuff for the loyalty and co-operation you boys have shown. Inter-House relations have not always been this school's strength. I wonder,' she continued as the children gasped, 'whether the Hat made a mistake with you, Mr Bennett?'

'No, it didn't,' he shook his head, decisively. 'I'm proud to be in Slytherin – but I think that Slytherin has forgotten that to look after yourself, sometimes you need other people's help, too.'

The professor nodded, curtly. 'Wiser words I have rarely heard. I shall look forward to seeing you again next week... perhaps working together for the whole lesson?'

'Yes, Professor,' Greg nodded, and his friends echoed him before they turned to walk out of the classroom. 'See you next week.'


	11. October

Any questions that the Slytherin boys had about whether Glyn and Jai's friendship would now be more permanent were answered the following morning in the Charms classroom. One week before, there had been a string of empty places on the long desk beside the four Slytherins, but as Glyn entered the classroom, he headed straight for the bench beside Theo.

'Hey, guys,' the Welsh boy smiled.

'Not ignoring us today, then?' Theo tried, unsuccessfully, to keep a straight face.

'Shut up,' Glyn stuck his tongue out.

'Hey, Glyn, Jai.' Greg leaned forward, looking around his housemate to the Hufflepuff boys. 'Seriously, though,' he lowered his voice. 'What happened when you got back to your common room yesterday? Didn't anyone say anything?'

'Yeah,' Glyn shrugged, 'but I told them that I was gonna be friends with who I wanted, and they could be friends with who they wanted.'

'Cool,' Theo grinned.

'I don't think that many people mind that much, really,' Jai added. 'A couple of prefects said well done to us for getting the points.'

'Which ones?' Glyn quickly questioned his friend. 'Jenny?'

'Jenny O'Callaghan?' Greg echoed. 'Head Girl?'

'Yeah,' Jai nodded, with the trace of a smile. 'She said she'd make sure the other prefects knew, and that no one would give us a hard time for it. Then there was Dan Buckley.'

'He's one of the Quidditch commentators,' Glyn explained. 'Him and Dan Beretta.'

'They're both called Dan?' Theo repeated, incredulously. 'Doesn't that get confusing?'

Glyn laughed. 'Wait till you hear them. They did one of the preseason games on WWN 5.'

'WWN?' Theo blinked. 'What the hell is that?'

'Wizarding Wireless Network.' Jai clarified.

'Like the muggle radio,' Isaac, who had been listening with interest, called down the table, but his chances of taking part in more of the conversation ended as Professor Flitwick hustled through the classroom door.

The rest of the lesson – reviewing levitation charms – passed without incident, and in fact the next few weeks of term settled down into a relatively trouble-free cycle as September became October.

Professor Slughorn seemed a different man in his own classroom, pottering around the desks and peering into students' potions. The teacher took a particular interest in one sleeping draught that Isaac had brewed, demonstrating it to the class in memorable fashion. Theo, who had volunteered on the grounds that one mouthful would do little more than make him feel drowsy, fell asleep standing up.

There was a chance for the muggle-born boy to have his revenge in Muggle Studies, however, as he convinced his friend to pronounce that Beef Wellington was so called because it was prepared in a wellington boot, rather than being named after a famous general.

'You git,' Isaac hissed as he slunk back to his desk, glaring at his friends as the other boys dissolved into helpless laughter.

'Sorry,' Theo spluttered, 'but you've got to admit, the look on Professor Smith's face was brilliant.'

'Just you wait for the next potion,' Isaac muttered. 'You never know what's going to be in it.'

'That was the last time I volunteer to test one of yours, anyway,' Theo answered back. 'Slughorn can get someone else to turn into a rabbit, or whatever, next time.'

'That's Transfiguration, not Potions,' Lucas corrected his friend, gaining a knock on the side of his head for his trouble.

Transfiguration itself was fast proving to be Greg's favourite class: as well as being able to sit with his friends from Hufflepuff, he had noticed that he was invariably the first to master a new spell. His Vanishing had progressed so well that he finished his first mid-term test by making Professor McGonagall's desk itself disappear.

These skills soon began to prove themselves useful, as the boys took turns to write notes on Binns' latest dronings in their History of Magic lessons, leaving Greg to transfigure copies later that evening. Spencer Dawlish had just about given up trying to rile a response from the Slytherins during History lessons, restricting himself to snide grins when the ghost professor mentioned the history of their Houses.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a similar tale, as Tregeagle kept the group far too busy with gory tales of Dark magic in action for the Gryffindors to aim too much towards the other children in the room. Indeed, much of their dislike seemed to be concentrated upon Ciaran Abercrombie, whom it seemed the professor had not forgiven for his first piece of homework. Most practical demonstrations, regardless of the other pupil involved, seemed to end with Ciaran on the receiving end of one spell or another.

Flying lessons, however, provided Dawlish with more of a chance to get at the Slytherins, particularly once Professor Wood split the group into two groups, depending on their skills. Thanks to Lucas' ceaseless work – in lessons, in Quidditch practices on Tuesday nights and on the borrowed school brooms in the Slytherin dungeons – all four boys made the advanced group. With Ciaran still very much a beginner flier, all of the Gryffindor boy's ire was trained on the Slytherins, and in particular Lucas.

'What are you wearing that for, Brand?' He smirked one morning as the red-haired boy fastened a helmet over his forehead. 'Don't you have to be going quickly first to crash?'

'Shut up, Dawlish,' Isaac answered for his friend. 'He's in the same group as you.'

'Leave it, Zac,' Lucas nudged his friend in the back. 'He's a jerk, just ignore him.'

'He's on your Quidditch team as well, isn't he?' Dawlish continued as Isaac's sister Holly joined him, followed – as ever – by the freckled boy, whose name the Slytherins now knew to be Joshua.

'Yes, Spence,' Holly smirked, 'but my _little_ brother's on their team too, and he was scared of getting three feet above the ground until he was ten.'

'Get lost,' Isaac reddened. 'Just because I'm on the Quidditch team, and you're not.'

'I'm not on the Quidditch team because our House isn't so full of losers that anyone who wants to be on the team gets picked,' she pouted, 'and I think they were just a teensy-weensy bit better than you little snakes last year, weren't they?'

'Shove it,' Theo backed up his friend. 'We don't give a crap what you think, so just piss off, alright?'

'Oh, naughty words,' Joshua taunted, 'what would the professor say if he heard that?'

'It doesn't matter, does it?' Greg challenged the Gryffindors. 'He didn't. Now why don't you show us how good you are and go and do the obstacle course, rather than just mouthing off about it?' He glared at them. 'No? Didn't think so.'

He turned away, setting his broom towards the series of rings that Wood had placed at strategic intervals around the Quidditch pitch. Some were as high as the hoops, some as low as the turf itself. Others encouraged the fliers to take a wide line around corners, before narrowing dramatically into a thin tunnel. Whilst Greg hesitated a couple of times, once after taking a wrong turning, he completed the course unscathed, silencing the Gryffindors for the rest of the lesson in spite of a late tumble from Lucas.

'Good thing you put the helmet on, mate,' Greg helped his friend up as the bell rung across the grounds. 'Are you gonna wear it in the matches?'

'Yeah,' Lucas nodded, 'I think you'd be bloody mad if you didn't, with the bludgers flying around as well.'

'Lots of the pros are starting to wear them now,' Isaac added. 'Puddlemere's seeker Wes Marston always does.'

'That's cause the doctors said that any more bludgers on the head could make him forget who he was, didn't they?' Lucas grinned at the memory. 'He's _definitely_ mental.'

'Seekers,' Isaac shrugged. 'They've got to be.'

Theo laughed. 'I'll tell Ossie you said that!'

'He'll agree with you,' Isaac grinned. 'Have you ever read the _Beater's Bible_? The first rule is "Take out the Seeker!"' He shook his head. 'Anyway, come on, we've got to go. We'll be late for History.'

'Neal won't mind that much,' Theo pointed out, but the blond boy didn't hesitate in following his friend back to the castle.

'I'm glad we're not out there tonight,' Greg looked up, past Hagrid's giant pumpkins, through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall to a furious rainstorm as the Slytherin boys filed in to take their places at the Halloween dinner.

'Could be worse,' Matthew leaned forward over his younger friend's shoulder. 'Could be hailing sideways,' he grinned, mischievously. 'Whatever, they won't cancel it.'

'Ugh...' Greg shuddered.

'What's wrong with playing in the rain?' Theo interrupted. 'My rugby coach always said it was just one more thing you could use, like if you were sliding for the try line.'

'Shame there's no try lines in Quidditch, then?' Isaac nudged Theo's shoulder.

'I'm sure there's something it would help you with!' Theo shot back. 'There must be _something_.'

'We'll worry about that on Saturday, shall we?' Oscar smiled. 'If it's still raining then.'

The short, shrill ring of a bell cut short the boys' conversation, as Professor McGonagall got to her feet at the front of the staff table. 'Good evening, students,' she pronounced, 'and welcome to the Halloween feast.' A polite cheer sounded across the Great Hall, before suddenly growing more raucous on the opposite side of the room to the Slytherin boys.

'Did you see what happened?' Greg craned his neck around.

'I saw one of the pumpkins fall down over the Gryffindor table,' Isaac whispered.

'Who did it fall on?' Matthew asked.

'Who d'you think?' Isaac answered as one of the Gryffindor boys strode angrily towards the doors. 'Ciaran, of course.'

'Thank you,' the Headmistress glared over the tops of her spectacles. 'Mr Abercrombie, you will return to your House Table.' The whole hall turned to stare as the sandy-haired eleven-year-old slumped back into a seat.

'It must suck to be him...' Theo whispered.

'Tough,' Lucas shrugged. 'He's as biased as the rest of them.'

'As I was saying,' Professor McGonagall continued, 'Halloween is a night for good humour, yes, and the occasional practical joke, but we must remember that it should not be more than that. Dark things have happened on this date, not least the execution of our own Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, now more than 500 years ago.' On cue, the Gryffindor House ghost appeared through the Hall's furthest wall.

'513 years, Professor,' he intoned, morosely, 'and even now those 45 hacks haven't been enough to finish the job. Still, the Headless Hunt are not satisfied...'

'Greetings, Sir Nicholas,' the Headmistress continued, 'and commiserations on the day. I see Sir Patrick remains trenchant as always,' she commented.

'Indeed, Professor,' the ghost droned, 'but I do not wish to interrupt,' he floated back into the corner of the room.

'Thank you, Sir Nicholas,' McGonagall smiled, primly. 'You may be heartened, at least, by the current standings in the House Cup, as Gryffindor lead the way on 232 points. Ravenclaw sit second on 219, Hufflepuff 195, and Slytherin 170. Nonetheless,' she paused as a cheer echoed from the left hand side of the room, 'this is the closest contest we have had in many years, and a great deal may yet happen between now and the summer. On that note, Professor Wood.' She sat down, allowing the Quidditch coach to take her place in the centre of the stage.

'As I'm sure you'll be aware,' Wood began, 'the 2006 Quidditch Cup begins this weekend, with the traditional opening game between Gryffindor and Slytherin.' He paused, allowing a swell of muttering to sweep across the hall. 'I know I'm not the only one to be expecting a much closer contest than we saw last year. As per usual, each House will play every other House once, and we will be using the same scoring system as the British and Irish League. Namely, two points for a win, one for a tie, and none for a defeat. Any teams tied on points will be separated by their total score over the course of the season. I am looking forwards to a competitive season.' He returned to his seat, leaving the stage clear for the Headmistress to stand once again.

'Let the feast begin!'

'That was awesome,' Greg grinned as he pushed his now-empty plate towards the middle of the table. 'Even better than the welcome feast.' He licked a handful of chocolate crumbs from his fingertips.

'Do you think so?' Theo narrowed his eyes, thoughtfully. 'I thought that one was better,' he concluded. 'More meat.'

Greg laughed as his friend scoured the table for any leftovers from their main course. 'I don't think there's anything left, mate.'

Theo sighed. 'Give me chicken legs over pumpkins, every time,' he grumbled.

'Oh, stop moaning,' Isaac chided, getting to his feet. 'You'd better finish now, anyway, the match starts in ten minutes. Glyn and Jai are waiting for us.'

'Alright,' Greg nodded. 'We're coming,' he scooped a generous handful of Every Flavour Beans into the pocket of his robes, before following the other first-years to the doorway.

'Who's playing, again?' Theo asked.

'Puddlemere against Wimbourne, the Dorset derby,' Isaac rolled his eyes. 'They always play on Halloween.'

'How was I meant to know that?' Theo shook his head, turning around to wait for Greg.

'He has told you already,' Greg grinned. 'Like three or four times, as well.' The blond-haired boy nodded a quick greeting to the two Hufflepuffs. 'Hey, guys. Have you been to any of the other common rooms before?'

'No,' the Welsh boy shook his head. 'First time.'

'Me neither,' Greg shrugged.

'Well, you can come back to ours some time,' Glyn offered.

'Thanks, mate,' Greg smiled, leading the Hufflepuff boys along the corridors towards the Slytherin dungeon, 'but I get the feeling I wouldn't be that popular there.' He touched his wand to the marble at the dead end of the passageway. 'Trinovantes,' he announced, as the marble bricks melted into a doorway.

'Cool...' Glyn whispered, following the Slytherin first-years into the dungeon.

'We're gonna sit over by the fire,' Greg explained, heading over to join the other Quidditch players.

'When Kevin moves,' Matthew groaned as the first-years approached. 'Come on,' the captain complained. 'You've got the whole common room to choose from. At least let us sit over here by the radio.'

'Why should I?' The other fourth-year, red-haired like his brother, snarled back from the sofa opposite the fireplace. 'So you can sit here with your mudblood friends?'

'Shut up!' Lucas snapped, grabbing for his wand and starting towards his older brother. 'Just because _you_ haven't got any friends!'

'Lucas!' Oscar grabbed the first-year round the waist, pulling him back and away from Kevin. 'Don't let him wind you up,' the prefect whispered.

'I suppose you'll be taking points off him now,' the older brother sneered.

'If I took anything off of him, I'd be taking ten times as many off you,' Oscar pulled Lucas in close, gently taking the wand from the younger boy.

Kevin rolled his eyes. 'You just wait till you get home,' he stared at his brother, pushing himself up from the black leather of the sofa and swaggering, chin held high, towards the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder and fixing his stare on his brother again. 'There's no prefects to look after you there.'

'Merlin...' Greg slipped into the empty seat that Kevin had just vacated as Matthew knelt before the old wireless, searching for the right station amidst a background of hiss and crackle. 'Are you gonna be alright, Luc?'

The redhead had slumped, silently, onto a stool beside the fourth-year prefect. 'I guess,' he stuttered. 'I don't have to go home at Christmas.'

'Got it!' Matthew's shout, echoing over a blast of sound as he twisted the radio's volume dial upwards, distracted the boys from Kevin's threats. 'They're just about to start.'

'So, thirty seconds to go,' the practised voice of the WWN commentator, Dean Thomas, filled the common room. 'Puddlemere, all in blue, are unchanged from last week's win at Montrose. They line up with Williams in goal, Dannatt and Tyler beating, Webster, Zakis and Kyle chasing and Marston as seeker. The Wasps, black and yellow as always, start with Owens guarding the hoops, Lawson and Mason are their beaters, Tarenko and Stankovic are joined by new signing Antonio di Vincenzo as chasers, whilst Ivan Lopez replaces Lee Dillon in the seeker's jersey.'

'Typical Wasps,' Isaac muttered, 'full of foreign players.'

'Zakis is so English, isn't he?' Oscar retorted. 'Or did I imagine seeing him play for Latvia?'

'One player,' Isaac shrugged. 'That's not the same as half the team. None of your chasers are English.'

'Hey,' Glyn interrupted, his accent grabbing at his words. 'It's not the _English_ League, you know.'

'Oh, yeah,' Oscar smiled. 'I think I'd rather have a Latvian on my team than a Welshman, though.'

The Hufflepuff boy stared, unsmiling, back at the prefect as Lee Jordan began to call the opening plays of the match.

'Ah, come on,' Oscar grinned. 'I don't really mean it, mate. Just trying out your sense of humour.'

'Don't,' Jai smirked. 'He's not got one.'

'Shut up,' Glyn elbowed his housemate in the ribs. 'Let's start on the Indian jokes, see how you like it.'

Matthew laughed. 'You never told me your friend couldn't take a joke.'

Greg turned to look across at the Welsh boy's hurt expression. 'He can, Matt,' Greg offered. 'I just bet he gets tired of it, with his Mum and everything.'

Glyn nodded, quickly. 'Sorry,' he stared at his feet. 'People say it so much I sometimes wonder if they're really joking,' he muttered.

'That's okay, mate,' Oscar apologised. 'I was only winding you up. We're not gonna have a go at you... Merlin, there's enough people who'll do that.' He sighed. 'Who're you supporting?'

'Um,' Glyn hesitated, 'Wasps, I guess. We need Puddlemere to drop points if we're going to catch them up.'

'So that's 2-1, Zac,' the prefect turned to the first-year sitting beside him. 'Who else is supporting the mighty Wasps?'

Jai lifted a hand.

'3-1,' Oscar grinned. 'So, Puddlemere? Anyone?'

'Mate, you know I'm just going to sit here and laugh at you and Zac getting wound up about it,' Matthew fiddled with the dial again as the commentator's voice stuttered.

'Just because the Cannons haven't won a game yet this season...' Oscar rolled his eyes.

'That's just cause we haven't played the Wasps yet.' Matthew shot back, grinning. 'What happened last season?'

'PENALTY TO PUDDLEMERE!' Lee Jordan's voice interrupted the fourth-years' squabble. 'Referee Norwell is having strong words with Stankovic, and the Serbian International doesn't look at all happy. I'm not sure what he's complaining about, a clear case of blatching as far as I can see...'

'Blatching?' Theo echoed.

'When you fly into someone on purpose,' Matthew explained.

'So, it's Zakis with the penalty, one-on-one with Ricky Owens... 10-0 Puddlemere! He's sent Owens the wrong way completely, great body feint from the Latvian, and an easy finish into the empty hoop. Five minutes in... 175 to go.'

'Well, what do you think of this time limit, Lee?' the co-commentator, whom Jordan had introduced as 1994 World Cup winner Keith Moran, asked his colleague a question that had dominated many conversations in the Quidditch world for the last year.

'Well, of course it means we'll lose the classic matches that run for days on end,' Lee answered, 'but with all the matches that the top players have to play today, how can we ask them to play for 48 hours on Dartmoor at the weekend, and then fly out to Vratsa and take on the Vultures?'

'Fair point, Lee, fair point,' the boys noticed the other man's pronounced Irish accent. 'Vratsa's not the nicest place to go, even when you're feeling your best,' he continued. 'I have to say, I wasn't convinced at first, but I'm coming round. It's nice to know you'll be home that evening.'

'It's certainly adding an extra bit of life to today's big game,' Lee agreed, 'by 11 o'clock tonight we'll know if Puddlemere can keep up their early season form and keep in touch with the Falcons at the top of the table, or whether the Wasps can sting their greatest rivals...'

'...and I don't know about you, Keith, but I'm certainly ready for that break. There's an hour to go here on the Isle of Purbeck and it's Puddlemere United 240, Wimbourne Wasps 200. We'll be back in a few minutes.'

Matthew turned the volume dial down as an advert for Mrs Skower's Magical Mess Remover followed the commentator's segue. 'Worth staying up for,' he remarked.

'Yeah,' Theo nodded enthusiastically. 'I still think wizards need to sort out some TV, though. I wish I could see what was going on... I still haven't seen a proper Quidditch match and we've got to play it on Saturday!'

'It'll be nothing like this, that's for sure,' Oscar shook his head, slumped back on the sofa. 'I bet we can defend better than this...'

'We'd better,' Matthew coughed, 'after everything we've been doing in practice about marking and keeping our positions.'

Greg swallowed, glancing towards the captain. 'Do... do you remember your first game?'

The captain nodded. 'I was a first-year... but it was the last game of the season, after someone had dropped out because of NEWTs or something.'

'Were you nervous?' Greg muttered.

'A bit, I guess,' Matthew shrugged, 'but more excited than anything else.'

Greg sunk back into his seat beside Theo. It didn't feel like the right time to admit to the other boys that even thinking about Saturday's game caused a vice of nerves to grab at his stomach. Slowly, he looked between each of his team mates – all of whom, with the possible exception of Lucas, were staring at the wireless as the third period crackled into life, with Puddlemere on the attack once again.

'Webster with the quaffle,' Lee Jordan began, 'he finds Kyle, who feeds Zakis, back to Kyle, Zakis again, Webster beneath him, left to Zakis, Kyle, Zakis, Webster, Zakis, GOAL!' The commentator gasped for breath. 'How do they do it, Keith?'

'Well, Lee, if you play with each other for long enough you start to know where your team mates are going to be. You don't need to look any more – you just pass.'

'Wow,' the first man responded. 'That must be part of what made the great Irish team of the nineties such a success.'

'One of many things, Lee, one of many things,' the Irishman chuckled, 'and I hope Barry Kyle will be doing the same in the all-green robes before too long. It's 250-200.'

The exchange of scores continued as the final hour ticked onwards, and with neither seeker tracking down the snitch, Puddlemere were able to hold onto their lead and close out a victory, by 330 points to 280.

'A fantastic performance from United here tonight,' Lee began to summarise, 'with all of their chasers on top form. In fact, the Wasps weren't far off their best tonight, but Puddlemere were just too good for them, with Sandis Zakis scoring 15. Keith.'

'Yes, Lee,' the Irishman continued, 'a particularly impressive display from the Latvian tonight, showing just why there's talk of Heidelberg and Bigonville trying to lure him away from United. We mustn't forget the other players on the park, though, and whilst no one will talk about Wes Marston tomorrow morning, he kept Ivan Lopez quieter than a church mouse. No way was that Spaniard getting near the snitch in those last few minutes.'

'Well said, Keith,' Lee agreed, 'whilst everyone focuses on the seeker if he makes a match-winning catch, their defensive game is even more important under the new timing rules, and that was a master class from Marston. We'll be back after the break with the two managers, and man-of-the-match, Sandis Zakis.'

'If he keeps playing like that, I don't care where he comes from,' Isaac grinned. 'Puddlemere!' He clapped his hands three times in rhythm. 'Puddlemere! Puddlemere!'

'Alright, alright,' Oscar grabbed the first-year playfully around the shoulders, 'but,' he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, 'it's past your bedtime. Downstairs,' he grinned, 'prefect's orders.'

'Aww...' Isaac begun to complain, but Oscar would not be dissuaded.

'Zac, it's past eleven o'clock,' he pointed out. 'You've got lessons tomorrow. Come on.'

'Fine,' the eleven-year-old pushed himself up, sticking his tongue out at the prefect, before making his way to the staircase.

'I guess we should be going back to Hufflepuff now?' Glyn spoke, but only quietly.

'At eleven o'clock?' Greg had only paid loose attention to the game on the radio, his thoughts drifting ahead to the weekend's match, but his friend's suggestion jerked him back into the present.

'Well,' Glyn winced, 'what else are we going to do?'

'Stay here,' Matthew offered, switching the radio's dial to its off position. 'The fifth-year boys dorm is empty.'

'Good idea,' Oscar agreed with his best friend. 'We've slept there a few times when Kevin's been being a tosser,' he added. 'In fact, I reckon we probably should join you there tonight. I bet he's gone and cursed our door again,' the prefect rolled his eyes, heading towards the stairs. 'Come on then,' he paused at its top, 'what are you waiting for?'


	12. Slytherin vs Gryffindor

Greg stared at the breakfast spread on the Slytherin table, feeling his stomach knotting inside him as he watched Theo devour a plateful of sausages and bacon. 'I don't know how you can eat all that...' he muttered. 'Aren't you nervous?'

'Not really,' Theo spluttered through a mouthful of pork. 'My rugby coach says that being nervous means you're thinking about it too much, and not letting your instinct do its work.'

'My instinct says I'll throw up if I have anything to eat,' Greg shuddered, his mind racing back to the last time he had played football for Chudleigh Primary School, and the heavy defeat the team had suffered. Was that how it was going to feel all over again?

'Hey,' an older voice shook Greg out of his daydream. 'You alright, mate? All set?' Matthew sat down beside the first-year, reaching across him for a slice of toast.

'I guess,' the younger boy murmured, staring down at a lone sausage as he pushed it around his own plate.

'Is that it?' Matthew ruffled his friend's hair playfully. 'You _guess_ you're ready? We've been planning for this for weeks!'

'Okay, I'm ready,' Greg shook the captain's arm away: even this gentle conversation was more than he wanted to hear. He pushed himself up from his place at the Slytherin table, heading for the tunnel that led back the dungeons. 'See you later.'

'Don't forget, the match starts at 10!' Matthew called after the first-year. 'Meet at the changing rooms at 9.30!'

'Alright,' Greg called back as he looked up to the clock at the entrance of the Great Hall. 'Ten minutes,' he told himself, as he began to wonder why he had ever been so keen to be on the team in the first place. 'Trinovantes.'

He crossed the common room floor, slumping into the sofa in front of the fireplace. It wasn't like the football game had been: this time he knew that his team mates wanted to win as badly as he did. Last time, though, he had been the captain: he had known exactly what to expect from a football match. Now, the questions that nagged the eleven-year-old's mind all began with "what if...?"

What if I drop the quaffle in front of everyone?

What if I make a mistake and Gryffindor score?

What if it's my fault that we lose?

Greg sighed, craning his neck as he gazed forlornly around the silent common room. There was no way to hide from it, he supposed: he just had to get on his broom and get on with it.

Matthew's pre-match speech washed over Greg as the eleven-year-old sat against the wall by the door of the changing room, oblivious to his brand new robes and the other boys in the room, until the sound of a bell brought them all to their feet.

'Welcome to the opening game of the 2006 Hogwarts Quidditch Cup,' an excited voice rung out across the Quidditch Pitch, echoing against the fast-filling banks of terracing on either side of the oval as the two teams emerged. 'It's Gryffindor against Slytherin, I'm Dan Beretta...'

'... and I'm Dan Buckley,' another voice, calmer and heavy with Northern vowels, completed the first commentator's sentence. 'It's twelve months since Gryffindor rewrote the record books with a 660-10 victory over their traditional rivals...'

'... but only a fool would bet on a repeat of that scoreline this year,' the first voice took over again. 'Slytherin have four new faces on their side. They'll join Seb Burns, who remains in goal, Oscar Symons, who'll be looking for his first capture in his fifth start as seeker, and Matt Sawyer, who'll be hoping his second season as captain will be less miserable than his first. I suppose that's like saying you hope your second lesson with Hagrid will be more interesting than staring up a flobberworm's backside...'

The Northern voice snorted. 'Er, thanks for that, Dan... as for the new faces in the Slytherin ranks...'

'Actually, which is the flobberworm's backside?' The excited voice interrupted again. 'I could never tell them apart. Answers on an owl to us in the Hufflepuff basement – the best one wins one of Dan's old stats sheets...'

'Dan!' The other boy shouted over his friend. 'No one _cares_ which end of a flobberworm is which, and even if they did they wouldn't want to hear you talking about it! The new faces for Slytherin, then, are all first-years, making this the youngest starting seven in the history of Hogwarts Quidditch.' The commentator paused for breath. 'Matthew Sawyer is joined by Greg Bennett and Isaac Davies, nephew of former Ravenclaw captain Roger, in the chaser line, whilst there's an all-new beater pairing in Theo Forrest and Lucas Brand.'

'You were interested in which end of the flobberworm was which when you found one in your bed in the third year...' Beretta shot back. 'Although _no one_ wants to hear how this story finishes, so it's onto the Gryffindor team news. Jason Newitt, sixth-year, takes over captaincy duties as he bids to extend his run of seven successive snitch snaffles.'

'Snaffles?' Buckley interrupted.

'It began with an S. It's called sibilance. You wouldn't understand, because there aren't any numbers.' The commentator raced on. 'Gryffindor's beater pairing is the same as last year: Darius Vallance and Marcus Fellows. There's a new face in goal, however, as Kelly Marriott makes her debut after two seasons as a reserve. It's also a first start for Jimmy Trebarah in the Chaser line, joining Norman Fellows, Marcus' twin brother, and Indigo Yorath. It's a strong side, Dan.'

'Yes it is, Dan. Of course, we saw what Trebarah could do in the third period against Ravenclaw last season, so the prospect of a full debut shouldn't hold any fear for the fourth-year from Cornwall. I wonder if we can say the same for the young Slytherins?'

Beretta chuckled. 'Well, Dan, I have to say that I've heard that this year's Slytherins aren't your usual snakes,' he paused, dramatically. 'There's even a particularly malicious rumour going around that you _won't_ want to punch them in the face the moment you meet them. I have to say, I'll believe it when I see some evidence, such as a little green and silver in the grandstands...'

'Perhaps you just need to look harder, Dan,' Buckley smirked. 'North Stand, Block A.'

Greg, whose insides had been slowly knotting themselves ever tighter as he listened to the Hufflepuff sixth-years' commentary, snapped his neck around to gaze at the North Stand, where – sure enough – a brace of green sweaters stood out. The first-year lifted a tense arm from his broomstick, certain that the supporters could only be Glyn and Jai.

'Well, you see something new every day,' Dan Beretta was back on the microphone, dominating the commentary as Greg had been promised he would. Dan Buckley's task was to keep the crowd up to date with records and statistics – and, it seemed, to keep his friend from being distracted.

'I suppose it would be asking too much for you to concentrate on the Quidditch for a whole game, as well?' Buckley asked. 'That would certainly be something new...'

'Not a chance,' Beretta laughed. 'Like I said, it's called colour, Dan. You'd be lost without it.' He launched into an admittedly accurate impression of his friend's voice. 'That was Indigo Yorath's sixth goal of the game, her 18th of the season and the 74th of her career, just six off the record set by Barry McBoring in 1843...'

'It's Barry McBain,' Buckley corrected his co-commentator, 'and his record's 86, and he set it in 1833.'

'You see?' Beretta could barely keep a straight face. 'You'd send the whole crowd off quicker than Slughorn's best sleeping draught! Anyway...' he drew a breath. 'Wood's in the centre circle, the snitch is up, followed by the bludgers, and the quaffle! The match is underway! THE 2006 QUIDDITCH CUP HAS BEGUN!'

Greg watched for a split second as one of the Gryffindor chasers snatched the quaffle, before the memory of Matthew's final words at the team's last practice took over his thoughts. 'Remember, if we keep our shape, they have to break us down...' He glanced to his right, to see the captain gesturing towards the space where the first-year knew he should be.

'Slytherin seem content to let Gryffindor have the quaffle,' Beretta continued. 'Burns, in front of the centre hoop, is well covered by the two young beaters, and the chaser line is holding station around the scoring area. Yorath goes outside, committing Davies to follow her... Davies is staying goalside. Yorath tries the shot, and it's easy for Burns.'

'I don't know what she thought she'd get from that angle,' Buckley commented. 'Davies gave her nothing to work with and even Indigo Yorath won't beat the keeper from there.'

'Slytherin obviously don't fancy a repeat of last year,' Beretta joked, 'and I can't say I blame them. Burns finds Sawyer, on to Bennett, who's on his own in the Gryffindor half. There's the bludger from Vallance – Bennett ducks – where's the support? It's one chaser against the whole Gryffindor defence and if Indigo Yorath can't score from there then I'm sure one little first-year won't. There's the shot...'

'That wasn't a shot, Dan,' Buckley corrected his friend. 'He knew he wasn't scoring, so he's given himself as much time as possible to get back and defend the next Gryffindor attack. Smart Quidditch from Slytherin...'

'There's the whistle, that's the end of the first period,' Beretta announced. 'It's Gryffindor 20, Slytherin 0, and I have to say, Dan, that's the first time I've ever been glad to see a time-out.'

'Didn't you enjoy it?'

'Enjoy it?' Beretta choked. 'Two goals in an hour? How am I meant to enjoy that? I've had History of Magic lessons that have been more fun than that.'

'Oh, Dan,' Buckley laughed. 'There's more to Quidditch than goals. Slytherin have been magnificent – they've kept things tight for an hour, and they're unlucky to be trailing in my book. One lapse of discipline from Bennett let Trebarah and Yorath in two-on-one, whilst Forrest was unlucky to see Wood call blatching on Fellows. I though it was very much a case six of one, half a dozen of the other.'

Beretta exaggerated a yawn. 'Trust you to be the one person in the whole of Scotland who found that _interesting_. I hope someone gets the bloody snitch as soon as possible, so we can all clear off and do something less likely to send us to sleep, like our Arithmancy homework...'

'Seeing as Jason Newitt spent that whole period arguing with Professor Wood about whether Slytherin's tactics were legitimate, don't bet on it,' Buckley chuckled. 'Just try to appreciate what Slytherin are doing,' he continued. 'No one has stopped Gryffindor playing like this before. You never know, Dan, you might actually enjoy it. I'd suggest concentrating on Davies versus Yorath...'

'... and I've got a load of things I'd like to suggest to you, but I don't want to be in detention for the rest of the year,' Beretta sighed. 'Anyway, here's the second period. Let's hope it's more entertaining than the Goblin Rebellion of 1512.'

'It was _16_ 12.'

'SHUT UP!' Beretta yelled. 'Merlin help me... it's Trebarah with the quaffle,' he sought to change the subject, 'but he's got no space: Bennett and Brand are in close attention, and the shot is well off target. More of the same...' he trailed off, disconsolately.

'More of the same,' Buckley echoed his friend, with far more enthusiasm in his voice.

'I know what I'm going to do,' Beretta suggested, midway through the second period with the scoreboard reading 30-0 after a fumble from Slytherin's keeper had allowed a tame shot from Trebarah to deflect inside the far-side hoop. 'I'm going to count how many seats there are in the North Stand.'

'It's a terrace, Dan,' Buckley interrupted. 'There aren't any seats...'

'Fine!' Beretta snapped back. 'I'll count how many people there are. It can't be any less interesting than... LOOK AT JASON NEWITT! Finally something's happening, and Oscar Symons is too busy holding his shape, as my friend Mr Buckley would put it, to react. It's seeker on seeker: Newitt's got the head start, Newitt's got the better broom, Newitt's got the experience... He drops down, although Symons is catching him – Symons is giving it everything – but Newitt's only got eyes for one thing: the golden snitch.'

'I can't see Symons beating him to it, Dan,' Buckley added. 'Yes, he's catching him up, but is he in control? That's only an old Cleansweep: I've never seen one of those sustain that kind of pace, and even if it can, will he be able to out-manoeuvre Newitt?'

'No, Dan,' Beretta's voice rose back to its usual, excited pitch. 'No, he won't, because Jason Newitt has caught the snitch! It's Gryffindor 180, Slytherin 0, and I know I'm not the only one to be glad that's all over. We'll be back in two weeks' time with Ravenclaw against Hufflepuff, and – I hope – a load more goals. I'm Dan Beretta...'

'...and I'm Dan Buckley.'

The door to the Slytherin changing room clattered shut, trapping the seven defeated players inside its silence.

'Well played,' Matthew offered, tamely, into the void. 'We didn't do too badly, I suppose,' he sighed, staring at the stone floor even as he addressed the team. 'None of their goals were because they out-played us; they were all just because we gave it to them...'

Greg felt his stomach tighten again as he remembered Gryffindor's opening goal. He had watched Isaac take the quaffle near the halfway line, and had flown forward to support his friend's attack. Unfortunately, Isaac had lost possession and Gryffindor had counter-attacked through the space in which Greg knew he should have been.

'Even then,' Matthew continued, 'we defended really well all game. They couldn't get past us like last year, and if Oscar had got the snitch...'

'I couldn't get it, Matt,' Oscar glared at his friend. 'I was covering Indigo Yorath, like you told me to, and Newitt saw it first!'

'I was just saying, if you had got it, we'd have won...' Matthew argued back, now making eye contact with the other fourth-year.

'Yeah, and I'm saying there was no way I was getting the snitch, cause I was doing what you told me to do!' Oscar snapped, his forehead reddening. 'It was your plan to defend like that!'

'So it's my fault, is it?' The captain stood up.

'It's more your fault than it is mine,' Oscar got to his feet, staring down the other boy.

'Stop it!' Theo protested. 'My rugby coach always said that...'

'Oh, for God's sake, Theo!' Matthew yelled. 'No one gives a crap what your bloody rugby coach thinks. Give it a rest, will you?'

As he watched Theo crumple back onto the bench at the edge of the room, Greg suddenly realised how grateful he was to have chosen a seat so close to the exit. He slipped out of the door, sliding it shut behind him, and slumped onto the ground for a moment, his back to the cold stone wall. Its barrier was too thin, however, to block out the raised voices within, and the eleven-year-old quickly pushed himself away, taking a handful of uneasy steps into the school grounds.

'Greg...?' A voice called.

The blond boy sighed as he noticed Glyn hurrying towards him, but immediately knew that he didn't have the energy to lose the Hufflepuff. 'Glyn...' he murmured.

'I was just going to see Hagrid,' the Welsh boy began. 'Do you want to come?'

'Hag... what?' Greg shook himself. Out of all the things he had expected his friend to say, this particular question ranked well down the list.

'You know who Professor Hagrid is, don't you?' Glyn hesitated. 'Half-giant...'

'Yes, I know who Hagrid is!' Greg complained. 'I'm not blind!' He paused as his own temper reminded him of the argument he'd seen moments before. 'Sorry,' The blond boy blushed, still stunned that his friend hadn't mentioned Quidditch yet. 'It's just... well, I just wondered... why?'

Glyn smiled. 'Well, I was on my way back from Herbology last week, when I found a bird with an injured wing near the forest. I didn't know what to do, so I took it to Hagrid. He told me it was a baby Augurey, and he said I could come and see how it was doing whenever I wanted to, so...' He tailed off. 'You don't have to come.'

'No, it's alright,' Greg nodded, quickly. 'I'll come with you... but...' he swallowed. 'Just one question – what's an Augurey?'

Glyn laughed as he caught up to his friend. 'It's just a kind of bird,' he explained. 'People used to think its cry was an omen of death... but then they discovered that it just means it's going to rain. It's quite well known, really...' He caught himself.

'Oh,' the blond-haired boy shrugged. 'You know I don't know much magic stuff. I bet you wouldn't know what an oystercatcher was...'

The Hufflepuff paused, looking up at his friend 'No, but I bet it catches oysters!'

Greg snorted, before managing to return a shadow of his friend's smile. 'Yeah,' he grinned, reluctantly. 'You're right there.'

'Come on, then,' Glyn began to lead the Slytherin along a track that wound away from the back of the Quidditch pitch towards the edge of the foreboding bulk that was the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid's Hut squatted on the edge of the forest, its weathered wooden frame echoing the tangle of trees and roots hidden beyond. Glyn lifted his right hand to the great door, knocking boldly twice. In a brief moment, it had creaked open to reveal the Groundskeeper's craggy face.

'Oh, hello there, Glyndwr,' the man's accent rolled easily around the Welsh boy's name. 'Good ter see yeh again.'

'Hi, Hagrid,' Glyn smiled, stepping into the house as the professor stepped back from the doorway.

'An' who's this yeh've brought with yeh?'

'I'm Greg,' the other first-year introduced himself, quietly. 'Greg Bennett.'

'Slytherin, eh?' Hagrid swung the door shut as Greg hastily followed his friend onto a cavernous old sofa that sat beside a wide, circular oak table.

'Yes,' Glyn answered, stridently, for the other boy, 'and he's still my friend.'

'Well,' Hagrid chuckled, turning round to plant himself in an equally deep chair, opposite the two boys. 'I s'pose Fang if likes yeh, then yeh can' be all bad.' The man's eyes twinkled as a dark boarhound planted its head into Greg's lap, slobbering all over the new green robes in the process.

Greg shuffled in his seat, trying to ease the dog's jaw away with the back of his hand as he glared back, stony-faced, at the enormous teacher.

'How is the Augurey?' Glyn searched for a change of subject.

'Gettin' there,' Hagrid replied, 'he's gettin' there. Won' be healed proper fer a couple o' months, I don't reckon.' The man reached up to a cage on the corner of a worn, old table, laying out his vast palm in front of the mottled grey-green plumage of a squat bird, which squawked amiably as it hopped onto the teacher's hand.

'Will it be alright?' Glyn asked, wandering over to the tabletop and holding out his knuckles to the curve of the bird's black beak.

'In time,' Hagrid chuckled, watching the little bird nip playfully at the Welsh boy's fingers. 'Won't do fer me ter let him back into the forest before he's ready, mind.'

Glyn nodded, letting the Augurey skip back across Hagrid's hands as the professor emptied a bowl of dried fruit onto the floor of the birdcage, before slipping back across the room to his friend. 'Watch the rock cakes if you want to keep your teeth,' he whispered as Hagrid set down a heavy plate on the wide table.

'How come you two are friends, then?' The man asked, taking a great bite out of one of the cakes. 'Not usual for Hufflepuffs and Slytherins...'

'No,' Glyn crossed his arms, 'but so what? We met in Potions,' he glanced at his friend. 'Just because he's in Slytherin doesn't mean...'

'I know, Glyndwr, I know,' Hagrid set down his rock cake. 'I've known plenty o' decent Slytherins in my time, it's jus'...'

'There were plenty of others that weren't.' Greg completed the teacher's sentence, morosely. 'You don't need to tell me, I know.'

'But not many o' them had friends in other Houses, I'd wager,' Hagrid pointed out.

Greg sighed, brushing the sleeve of his robes across his face. 'It's just hard,' he stared at his feet. 'When you can't forget it all,' he blinked, 'when people remind you of it every day... and even your friends are arguing,' he shared the story of the fourth-years' quarrel. 'It's like there's no way out. Even Quidditch; we can't even do that... I don't know what I'd've done if you hadn't have been there afterwards.' He shook his head as he felt his eyes begin to burn.

'Greg,' Glyn offered, tentatively. 'You played great today, for your first game.'

'That was yer firs' time?' Hagrid echoed the Hufflepuff. 'Blimey.'

'How come you didn't say, Glyn?' Greg rubbed his eyes again. 'Outside the changing rooms, why didn't you tell me?'

'I know what my Mum's like after losing at Quidditch,' he murmured. 'We never mention it at home after a game, never. Dad calls it "Operation Obliviate".'

'He speaks sense, your Dad,' Hagrid nodded, sagely. 'Losin' does funny things ter people. They do things they don't really mean... like yer friends.'

'Oh, God.' Greg jumped to his feet. 'Theo.' He swallowed. 'I'm sorry, Hagrid, but I've got to go. I've got to see Theo.' He forced the door of the groundskeeper's hut open. 'Thank you, Hagrid. Thank you, Glyn...'

'Yer welcome back any time,' the professor heaved himself upwards, calling after Greg as the first-year's footsteps tore back to the castle before easing the door shut once more. 'I reckon yer Dad would be proud o' you today, Glyndwr.' He rested a giant hand on the Hufflepuff's shoulder as the baby Augurey began to whine in the background. 'Very proud indeed.'


	13. Blood and Water

'Trinovantes!' Greg ignored the magic of the common room doorway, squeezing through as soon as the opening became wide enough. 'Theo...?'

'He's downstairs,' a quiet voice carried from the fireplace, and as Greg looked across he recognised Lucas' pale face and red hair.

'Luc...' he offered. 'Are you alright? What happened in the changers after, you know,' he blushed. 'After I left?'

Lucas winced, shrinking more deeply towards the back of the black sofa as Greg sat down alongside him. 'Matt punched Oscar,' he whispered, matter-of-factly.

'What?' Greg gasped, unable to believe what his friend had told him. 'Why?'

'Oscar told him that he shouldn't have sworn at Theo like that, and that he had no right to be captain if he was going to behave like that.'

Greg swore, shaking his head as he heard the other boy retell the story. 'Where is he now?'

'Who, Oscar?' Lucas asked. 'In the hospital wing. Isaac went with him. I don't know where Matt went,' the redhead anticipated his friend's next question.

Greg swore again, remembering Hagrid's words. 'Losing does funny things to people,' he repeated. 'They do things they don't really mean.'

Lucas nodded, sadly. 'What do you think will happen now?' He bit his lip.

'I don't know,' Greg began to answer, but hesitated. 'I suppose it depends on what we do... what we make happen. I'm going to go and talk to Theo – are you coming?'

'Alright,' Lucas agreed.

'Cool,' Greg smiled, leading his friend down the stairs towards the Slytherin dormitories. 'Theo?' Greg's voice carried into the stuffy quiet of the first-years' room as the door creaked open. 'Theo?'

'He wouldn't say a word to me,' Lucas tugged on the sleeve of Greg's robes. 'He just pulled his curtains shut as soon as we got back.'

'Theo,' Greg repeated, playing for time as he wondered what to say to the other boy. 'Come on, mate,' he offered, 'please?'

'I tried,' Lucas whispered, and Greg nodded as he heard, taking the handful of steps towards his own bed and collapsing onto its sheets.

'It's my fault,' the blond boy shut his eyes. 'I should have stood up for him, like I said I would... like I _promised_ I would, instead of just running away like a coward – like the Slytherins in the Battle of Hogwarts...' Greg felt the hot rush of moisture against the backs of his eyes once again.

'It's not your fault,' Lucas offered, timidly. 'Oscar stood up for him, and look what happened to him. You couldn't have done anything else...'

'I should still have been there!' Greg protested, sitting up suddenly and staring at Lucas through raw, tear-filled eyes. 'He's my best friend! I shouldn't have run away... I guess the stories are right after all; Slytherins are just selfish cowards.'

'You're _not_ ,' Lucas sat on the bed beside Greg, trembling as he spoke. 'You're _not_ selfish, and you're _not_ a coward,' he insisted. 'Remember when you stood up for me when Isaac called me a squib?'

'That was different...'

'Why? You weren't a coward then... and I've never seen you being selfish.' Lucas took a breath. 'Even on Halloween, when Kevin was having a go at me, you were the first person to ask if I was okay afterwards. That's not being selfish.'

Greg rubbed the sleeve of his robe across his eyes, before lifting the green garment off his shoulders and laying it over his bed. 'I guess...' he paused, as a jumble of thoughts collided in his mind. 'You said about not going home for Christmas...'

'I mean it,' the other boy looked down at his feet. 'I'll stay here. I'm not letting _him_ pick on me all Christmas.'

'You don't need to stay here, Luc,' Greg shook his head. 'Come and spend Christmas in Chudleigh with us.'

'Really?' Lucas blinked.

'Yes, of course,' Greg nodded. 'Slytherins stick together, remember? We've got to be there when someone needs us, because we never know when we'll need someone,' he sniffed, before looking Lucas in the eye. 'Like just now.'

Lucas smiled, shyly. 'Thanks, Greg...'

'That's alright,' Greg shrugged. 'It's what being in Slytherin is all about,' he pulled his cotton undershirt over his head, 'and Theo still needs us now. Just let me get changed,' he drew the curtains around his bunk as Lucas jumped clear, before the emerging again moments later in jeans and a sweatshirt.

'Theo,' he repeated. 'I'm sure Matt didn't really mean it,' he spoke to the curtains around his friend's bunk, sighing as he heard nothing in response. 'You can't just stay there, mate.' Greg grabbed hold of the drapes, pulling them apart along the side of the bed.

Still in his Quidditch robes, Theo stared up at his friends, before shaking his head slowly and rolling away, burying his face into his pillow.

'I know I shouldn't have run away,' Greg apologised, 'but...' he tailed off as the other boy showed no sign of responding. 'Why are you doing this, Theo?' He begged. 'I don't understand...'

'Just because he's a fourth-year doesn't mean you have to listen to him,' Lucas was insistent. 'We never listen to my brother, do we?'

'At least do it for Oscar!' Greg felt his voice beginning to rise. 'He took a punch for you! At least get up and come and see him in the hospital wing...' He remembered the fears that the two boys had shared on their first night in this very room. 'Or else you're just showing that the stories really are true, that Slytherins are only ever out for themselves...'

'Is that what you think?' Theo suddenly snapped out of his stupor, jerking to his feet, his eyes watering. 'I'm just being selfish?'

'Theo...' Greg's tone instantly softened. 'I didn't mean it like that...'

'How did you mean it, then?' The other boy rounded on his friend. 'You don't understand,' he shook his head. 'Nobody does.'

'What don't I understand?' Greg asked again. 'I said sorry,' he defended himself. 'What else do you want me to do? I can't go back in time and change it all again.'

'Shut up, Greg,' Theo snarled. 'You know what I mean. Stop trying to be funny.'

'I'm not trying to be funny, Theo!' Greg protested. 'Honestly, mate! Why would I?' He asked. 'Why would I want to take the piss after what's already happened? You're my best friend...'

Theo shook his head, advancing towards the other first-year. 'You still don't get it, though, do you? You don't know what it's like to be the only one; on your own with no one to talk to; just trying to fade away and hide so no-one notices you...'

'So what if he doesn't?' Lucas spoke up, standing across Theo's path and in front of Greg. 'I do. I live with _Kevin_.'

Theo froze in his tracks as the red-headed boy held his stare.

'I know how it feels like,' Lucas swallowed, 'but it wasn't like that today. It's _not_ just you or me or any of us on our own any more.'

Theo nodded slowly, before stumbling back onto the edge of his bunk. 'Sorry,' he stared down at his feet. 'It's just sometimes, things remind me of it all, and, and...' His words faded away as his head fell into his hands, hiding further behind his long fringe.

'I know what you mean,' Lucas' voice softened, 'but you don't have to let it be like that.'

Greg edged across the room towards Theo's bunk, sitting down beside his best friend and resting his arm on the other boy's shoulders. 'It's not your fault, Theo,' he insisted. 'You were just trying to stand up for us all. I'm sorry I ran away.'

'It's okay,' Theo shook his head. 'My rugby coach always says...' he tailed off, suddenly, lifting his head to look Greg in the eyes. 'You don't care, do you?'

Greg swallowed. 'Well,' he hesitated, 'you do say that a _lot_...' The eleven-year-old forced a smile. 'I still remember some of the things you told us, though – like the way that it's only a foul if the referee sees it.'

Theo nodded.

'What were you going to say?' Lucas asked. 'What is that your coach always said?'

Theo turned towards Lucas. 'He said it didn't matter if you made a mistake, so long as you made up for it later.'

'What about in the changing rooms?' The red-headed boy added. 'Before...'

Theo understood his friend's question before the other boy had asked it. 'Sometimes losing is part of sport. It's what makes winning worth waiting for.'

Lucas smiled. 'Your coach was good.'

'He was the _best_.'

'You miss him, don't you?' Greg asked. 'So that's why... when Matt said that...' He tapped his friend's shoulder kindly. 'Sorry...'

'It's okay,' Theo shrugged. 'He also said there was no point in sulking if something went wrong. He would never have let me sit here like this.' He reached for the drawstring of the curtains around his bed. 'Give me two minutes to get changed and we'll go and see Oscar.'

'Ossie...' Greg spoke first as the three Slytherin boys hurried across the hospital wing to greet their team mate.

'You took your time,' the seeker looked up from his bed.

'Sorry,' Greg began to reply automatically, before halting himself, 'but I wasn't going anywhere until I made sure Theo was alright.' He felt himself staring coldly at the fourth-year.

'Oh,' Oscar's expression softened instantly as he turned to face the other boy. 'Are you, Theo?

'Yeah,' the first-year nodded. 'Fine, cause my friends are here.' He swallowed, before repeating the first-years' last conversation. 'What about you?'

Oscar smiled wryly. 'A bloody nose, that's it. I'll be alright to go any minute.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm a seeker, I'm used to getting hurt.'

'It's not usually cause of your own team mates, though, is it?' Isaac asked.

'No,' the older boy sighed, shaking his head. 'Do any of you know where Matt went?'

'No,'

'Don't know,'

'No idea,' the first-years answered in chorus, before Isaac spoke over his friends. 'He never said anything about where he was going, neither... he just went off and slammed the door behind him.'

'The memorial...' Oscar muttered.

'Where?' Theo asked.

'The memorial garden,' Isaac answered. 'Down by the lake – by Dumbledore's tomb.' He shivered. 'Why, though?'

'In the first year,' Oscar recalled. 'It was the only place we knew no one would bother us. You know what it's like.' The hospital wing fell quiet as the first-years heard the prefect's words.

'Do you think that's where he's gone now?' Greg ventured.

'It must be,' Oscar shrugged. 'If he isn't back in the dungeons, then I don't know where else he could have gone.'

'So,' Greg continued, glancing briefly over his shoulder as a patter of rainfall began to lick against the windows, 'should we try and find him, or wait for him to come back?'

'Find him,' Isaac suggested, confidently.

'Are you sure?' Greg countered. 'Glyn says he never talks to his Mum about Quidditch after her team has lost.'

'So what?' Lucas spoke up for the first time. 'Why do we need to talk to him about Quidditch? Just think how he's feeling now... He's still our friend, isn't he?'

'Yes,' Oscar nodded. 'He is.'

'Excuse me, boys,' Madam Pomfrey's motherly voice hovered towards the corner of the room. 'This is a hospital, and not a common room.'

'They'll all go if you let me go with them,' Oscar suggested, hopefully. 'I feel loads better now,' he insisted, running his hand over the bridge of his nose to emphasise his recovery.

'Suit yourself,' the nurse shrugged, 'but make sure that you go _quietly_.'

'Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,' the prefect grinned, pushing himself up from the hospital bed and smoothing the sheets down behind him. 'Hope I don't see you again too soon.'

'It'll be another Quidditch injury, I shouldn't wonder.' The nurse shook her head as she watched the gaggle of boys hurry through the double doors.

'Have you ever been to the gardens before?' Oscar asked, leading the first-years down the spiral of a stone staircase.

'Once,' Isaac was the only one to answer, 'two years ago, for the service – the fifth anniversary. Mum and Dad took us.'

Oscar nodded, but said nothing more as the group of boys followed him out of the castle doors into a fine mist of drizzle.

The memorial garden nestled on the shore of the Black Lake, secluded behind a high box hedge that cut it off from the rest of the school grounds.

'Can you see the monument?' Oscar whispered an obvious question to the younger boys, pointing to an obelisk that dominated the skyline long before they reached the garden's borders. 'That has got all the names of everyone Voldemort or his followers ever killed, wizards and muggles, all the way back to 1943 when he killed his own Dad.' He shook his head. 'Then there are the crosses: one for everyone who was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts.'

'We will never forget.' The first-years followed the prefect towards a corner of the box hedge that eased open into an arched doorway as the fourth-year mouthed the password. 'I know where he'll be,' Oscar offered. 'Down the back of the monument, round by the fountain. Wait here,' he gestured, pulling the hood of his robes over his head as the drizzle grew into heavier rain, 'and remember them.'

Leaving the first-years behind, Oscar paced steadily along the gravel pathway that traced the edge of the garden, trapped between the hedge on its left and the first row of crosses on its right. His boots crackled harshly against the layers of wet stones, disrupting the silent air all around, and he was grateful to reach the top step of a stone staircase that led down, beyond the obelisk, into a courtyard that echoed the grey of the autumn sky.

In the centre of the courtyard there stood a granite statue, where a lion, eagle, badger and snake joined together to raise aloft a single wand, from which there emerged a constant plume of water. Today, the fountain's stream combined with the November rain that tumbled down from the sky above to scatter across a shimmering pond, surrounded on each side by a solitary bench, and on the nearest seat – just as Oscar had predicted – the back of Matthew's brown hair was visible. Without a word, the prefect crept down the staircase and onto the bench beside Matthew. It was nearly five minutes before either of the boys spoke.

'I remember in our first year,' Oscar offered. 'After that first History study class. The first time we saw the garden,' he took a deep breath. 'The first time we _knew_.'

Slowly, Matthew turned his head to face the other boy, pushing a rain-drenched forelock away from his eyes, before shaking his head and staring back at his own feet.

'When I didn't come back to the dungeons that night,' Oscar continued to retell his memory. 'There was one boy who realised, and went out and looked for me... almost everywhere in the whole castle.'

Matthew looked up once again, shaking the same saturated strand of hair out of his view, and this time holding the prefect's gaze. 'I remember, too,' he whispered. 'I wonder what that boy would have thought if he had been in the changing rooms today.'

Oscar swallowed. 'I don't know,' he hesitated. 'I guess... I guess he would have wondered why?'

Matthew shuddered. 'I wish I knew.' He shook his head again, staring down at the ground before sharply looking back up to face the prefect. 'I haven't even said sorry…' he stammered.

'Don't worry about it...'

'Of course I'm worried about it!' Matthew snapped. 'I just hit you in the face, and, and...' The fourth-year swallowed, shivering as he heard his own words. He swore. 'What the hell is wrong with me?'

'I guess...' Oscar began, hesitantly. 'I guess it's cause the Quidditch team is so important to you, and we got so close to winning, to doing what you've been desperate to do, to proving everyone wrong. If I'd've caught the snitch...'

'It wasn't your fault, Ossie. No-one's beaten Newitt in years...' Matthew sighed. 'Merlin,' he kicked out at the gravel on the damp courtyard by his feet. 'We had four first-years playing their first ever games, and we kept Gryffindor to 30-0 in nearly two hours... and I didn't even tell them how well they'd done.' He shook his head. 'You were right. I don't deserve to be captain.'

'Yes, you do. It doesn't matter if you make mistakes,' Oscar began, remembering something the first-years had mentioned in the hospital wing. 'Not as long as you make up for them.'

Matthew managed a thin smile. 'I suppose,' he nodded, 'if you put it like that.'

The prefect couldn't keep himself from grinning. 'That was what Theo's rugby coach always said.' Oscar laughed as he watched his best friend's head sink into his hands.

'Merlin, I've been such a tosser...' Matthew sunk back onto the sodden bench. 'All he was trying to do was help, and all I did was tell him to piss off,' he sighed. 'What the hell are they all going to think?'

'I don't know,' Oscar shook his head. 'I suppose we could go up those steps and ask them, though.'

The captain sat bolt upright. 'They came with you? After... after all that...?'

The prefect nodded.

'Wow,' Matthew felt himself beginning to blush. 'It looks like Greg really meant it when he said Slytherins stick together.'

'And you wanted him to Sort anywhere but Slytherin,' Oscar observed, a wry smile spreading across his face. 'Now come on, let's go – it's hammering it down out here!'

'I'm glad you're so good at potions, Zac,' Greg offered as the six boys clustered around a cauldron that simmered gently on the floor of the first-year dormitory.

'It's just a warming draught,' Isaac shrugged.

'Yeah,' Matthew put in, 'but it's a bloody good one.' He took a long mouthful of the liquid, draining the mug that the first-year had filled only moments earlier. 'A hell of a lot better than anything I ever made.'

'How come you're so good?' Theo took a sip from his own mug, savouring the tingling sensation that spread comfort back along his arms and legs. 'Your potions always do exactly what they're meant to do,' he remembered the sleeping draught that had paralysed him a handful of weeks ago, 'or even more than that.'

'I don't know,' Isaac shook his head, modestly. 'I've always been quite good at them. I guess it's just in my blood.'

'That's rubbish.' Lucas raised his voice, and the others jerked their heads around towards him.

'Luc...?' Greg ventured. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean what I said,' Lucas snapped back. ' _Nothing's_ in your blood. Kevin's always going on about how important your blood is, and how it matters so much in deciding the sort of person you are.' He thumped his fist against the low chest of drawers by his side. 'So, just because his father was a pureblood and mine wasn't, he thinks...' He tailed off instantly, and the room fell into a sudden quiet, only punctuated by the bubbling cauldron as the other Slytherins stared at the redhead.

'I, uh, uh...' Lucas snapped his head away from the other boys, pushing himself up and heading for the dormitory door.

'Colloportus,' Oscar stood, pointing his wand over the first-year's shoulder. 'Lucas,' he called the boy's name as the eleven-year-old grabbed at the handle of the now-locked door. 'It doesn't matter. We're not going to tell Kevin. We're not going to tell anyone.'

'You're still our friend,' Greg stood up alongside the prefect. 'I don't care if you're pureblood or half-blood or quarter-blood. Like you said,' he paused, 'that doesn't change the sort of person you are. It doesn't change anything.'

Lucas let go of the door handle, despondently. 'I wish that was true...' He stumbled back towards the circle of boys, slumping down beside the prefect.

'What?' Theo exclaimed. 'You just said...'

'Just look around you,' Lucas shivered. 'Remember what we saw this afternoon. Why did that war start?'

Oscar reached an arm onto the first-year's shoulder, supporting Lucas as the eleven-year-old began to sob quietly. 'Theo,' the older boy began to explain, 'I guess the real truth doesn't matter if everyone believes something else.'

Theo nodded, slowly. 'But...' he began, 'isn't that war over now? You know how no one wants to be in Slytherin any more.'

Oscar shook his head. 'That war won't start again, but it won't stop people believing that pure blood is superior. They'll just find different ways to show it.'

'Why, though?' Theo questioned. 'What's the difference? How does it affect them?'

Oscar paused. 'Tell me what you thought of all the immigrants in your school in London.'

'Why did they all have to come here?' The blond-haired boy snapped. 'They don't try to learn our language or play our sports. They just take over.'

Greg felt his mouth fall open as he heard his best friend's words. 'Theo, you can't say that! That's racist!'

'No it's not; it's true,' the other boy shot back. 'How would you know, anyway? How many Indians were there at your old school?'

'None, but Jai's Indian,' Greg protested, 'and he's my friend, and he speaks English just as well as we do.'

'I bet he speaks something else as well.'

'So what?' Greg couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'So does Glyn, he speaks Welsh. That doesn't change the sort of person he is.'

'That's not the same thing,' Theo countered, his voice quickening. 'It's not the same thing as having your school full of them, then being left out and being treated like crap, when it was your country in the first place...'

'I think that's how the wars all began,' Oscar spoke calmly over the first-years' budding argument. 'Having your school full of mudbloods, ignoring your traditions, and _just taking over_ ,' he paraphrased the Londoner. 'Do you think you're racist, Theo?'

The first-year shook his head.

'Just standing up for your traditions?'

Theo nodded.

What do you think the first few people who agreed with Voldemort would have said if you'd asked them if they were racist, or prejudiced, or just standing up for their traditions?'

'I'm not like that!' Theo insisted.

'Then what's the difference?' Greg asked, remembering the way his friend had talked Glyn and Jai around in a Transfiguration lesson.

'I...' Theo shook his head, his eyes beginning to water. 'I don't know...'

'I think you're right, Ossie,' Isaac broke his silence. 'I remember at a Puddlemere game against Falmouth last year. There were a load of fans signing a song at their seeker, and the last line...' He hesitated, sensing the other boys' attention. 'The last line was, "You can't even use your wand, you dirty little mudblood".'

'Did you join in?' Greg stared at Isaac, who nodded forlornly, before looking down at the dormitory floor.

Greg shook his head, disgusted. 'How could you? Didn't you know everything that had happened?'

'Leave it out, Greg,' Oscar interrupted. 'He's the only pureblood in here, and he owned up to saying that in front of all of us.'

The first-year nodded. 'It's just... I thought...' he stuttered, looking around the circle of his friends with their recent revelations echoing in his mind.

'The world's not as simple as you thought it was, right?' Matthew spoke up. 'Welcome to Hogwarts.'


	14. Names

Greg sat up sharply in his bed, realising with a start that his breathing was hurried, and his bedsheets covered in sweat.

'Bloody hell...' he whispered to himself as he remembered the dream that had woken him moments before. He shook his head, reaching behind his back to feel the damp that had covered his skin, before edging the drapes around his bed slowly open.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloomy dormitory, the pale green glow of the clock in the corner of the room told him that dawn was still several hours away. Closer by, however, another set of open curtains let him know that he wasn't the only first-year who was struggling to sleep.

Thanking his older friends for having taught the first-years a silencing charm, in order to help them get around the castle after their late evening Quidditch practices, Greg edged to his feet. He crept towards the exit of the dormitory, before tiptoeing to the ornate staircase that led up to the common room, now lit only by flickering lantern-light.

'Did you see his face when I said about that song?' Greg overheard a voice that could only have belonged to Isaac. He felt his heart begin to pound against his chest, and crouched down against the edge of the stairwell, hiding away as he waited for the reply that he knew would have to come.

'Well what did you expect?' Theo's voice rung out, and Greg felt a surge of relief as he heard his best friend's words.

'But...' Isaac protested, 'it's like he's never done anything wrong in his whole life.'

'So what?' Theo countered. 'Why should he be ashamed of that? He didn't call anyone a dirtly little mudblood.'

'Piss off,' Isaac snapped. 'Neither did I. I'm not the one who thinks that all the Indians should go back home, either. Are you going to tell Jai that tomorrow, too?'

'Oh, shut up,' Theo raised his voice as Greg chose the moment to reveal himself.

'How long have you been spying on us for?' Isaac stood up, his eyes flashing.

'I wasn't spying!' Greg defended himself. 'Or have you forgotten, I never do anything wrong!'

'So why are you out of bed, then? Isaac fixed his glare on the other first-year.

'Why are _you_?' Greg flushed. 'I couldn't sleep... I had, I had...'

'What?' Isaac sneered. 'Did you have a scary nightmare?'

'Yes,' Greg took a handful of unsteady strides towards the other boy. 'I did have a nightmare. I dreamed that I was with Lucas and Jai, and we were surrounded by Death Eaters...' He felt his eyes begin to water. 'That wasn't the worst thing, though,' he swallowed. 'You and Theo were two of the Death Eaters.' Greg could hold his gaze no longer, and crumpled onto the low black sofa beside the common room fireplace.

Theo's eyes followed his best friend as he slumped into the corner of the chair, before looking back to Isaac's tense frame. ' _Slytherins stick together,_ Isaac,' he whispered, before sitting down alongside Greg. 'Unless you really want to become a Death Eater?'

'I don't want to become a bloody Death Eater!' Isaac yelled, grabbing for the wand in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms and pointing it towards Theo's bare chest.

'So why are you pointing your bloody wand at me, then?' Theo's eyes narrowed.

'Stop – bloody – swearing at each other!' Greg lifted his head from his left palm. 'Haven't we got enough enemies?'

'Sorry,' Isaac lowered his wand.

'Bloody sorry,' Theo added, and the other two first-years couldn't stop themselves from snorting a laugh.

'I know you don't want to be a Death Eater, Zac.' Greg spoke quietly as the other boy settled onto an armchair beside the occupied sofa. 'But the dream...'

'Don't,' Isaac interrupted. 'I don't want to hear about it. It's never gonna happen, I promise. I didn't mean that song; I don't think you're a... you know what. I only said it because of what Oscar said, about the way things started off.'

'I know,' Greg nodded. 'Football songs are like that, too: you say things you don't really mean. I shouldn't have had a go at you about it...'

'I'm _not_ racist,' Theo repeated, speaking to nobody in particular, 'but I know what Ossie meant.'

'He's right,' Isaac confirmed. 'People worry that mud-,' he winced, realising what he was saying before correcting himself, 'muggle-borns won't continue wizarding traditions, won't play Quidditch, will break the Statute of Secrecy.'

'That's not true,' Theo argued.

'It's easy to believe, though, isn't it?' Greg shook his head. 'Then every time you hear someone in London who isn't speaking English, or a muggle-born wizard who won't join in with Quidditch, you just believe it even more.'

'Well, we can prove it wrong,' Theo's voice grew insistent. 'A Quidditch team that's full of mudbloods. Just wait until we win a game.'

'I _wasn't_ trying to catch the snitch, Dawlish,' Neal Kennedy sat on the front of the teacher's desk in the ground floor classroom ahead of the History study lesson. 'I was making sure Langford never got near it. We were forty points up, and they were never going to score enough goals to beat us, so the only way they could win was the snitch.'

'Yeah, but if you got it, then you'd have won by more,' Spencer Dawlish answered back.

'Really? You don't say...' the seventh-year rolled his eyes, 'and we'd have also lost it if Langford had managed to get it.'

'That's boring,' Dawlish complained, as Holly Davies echoed his moan.

'Probably,' Neal shrugged, 'but sometimes you've just got to take the win. It's called playing the percentages,' he glanced conspiratorially towards the Slytherin boys, who had gathered around a corner table, 'but I wouldn't expect a Gryffindor to understand that.'

The seventh-year smirked, pushing himself up from his desk and beginning to stride down the centre of the classroom. 'So,' he began, before anyone could come up with a retort, 'today's lesson. I am assuming Binns spent last Friday gabbling on about Beasts and Beings, or something like that?'

The assembled children mumbled their agreement with the older boy's assertion, the Slytherins still grinning as they watched Spencer Dawlish stare thunderously at the Ravenclaw.

'I also assume you never want to hear any further mention of Grogan Stump or the 1811 Classification Act?' Neal grinned as he heard his class groan. 'So let that be sufficient. The Act was all about the names – Beasts or Beings – that we would give to various creatures, but a name can be a great deal more powerful than you might imagine.' The seventh-year paused, only for his introduction to be interrupted as the classroom door creaked open as Ciaran Abercrombie stumbled through it.

'Oh, do you mean like _look at that complete loser_?' Dawlish sneered as the sandy-haired boy wordlessly accepted his insult, sinking dejectedly into an empty seat in the corner of the room.

'I can't believe people just get away with talking about him like that,' Greg muttered as he watched Neal shake his head.

'Tregeagle's Head of House, mate,' Theo reasoned. 'I don't think he's bothered, judging by how our defence lessons go.'

'Who cares?' Lucas hissed. 'Have you forgotten what he said to me in that flying lesson?'

'But that shouldn't mean...' Greg began to protest, but Isaac cut him off.

'Remember what Matt said,' the brown-haired boy spoke matter-of-factly. 'Life's not as simple as you thought.'

There was no time for the first-years to dwell on their conversation, however, as Neal was back into his stride. 'Yes, Dawlish,' he glowered. 'Like that. Or, _you've got a mouth the size of a manticore and all the tact of a blast-ended skrewt._ ' He slammed the classroom door shut, before perching on the end of a bookcase at the side of the room. 'Short of shooting insults at defenceless targets, though, there is still much more that a name can do. Who has heard of the tale of Rumpelstiltskin?'

A scattering of hands raised themselves, and Neal pointed to a short, black-haired girl, who began to tell the story. 'There's a woman, and she gets told she has to spin thread into gold or the king will cut her head off,' the Gryffindor ventured, 'but then this little man appears and does it for her so long as she promises him her baby. So she agrees, but one year later the man comes back and she has to give up the baby, only he says he will leave her alone if she guesses his name.'

Neal nodded. 'Please continue, Chloe.'

The girl smiled. 'Of course, she has no idea, and her first two tries are wrong, but on the third day, one of the woman's friends overhears the little man saying his name out in the woods, and then she tells the woman, so she can guess that it's Rumpelstiltskin...'

'...and they all lived happily ever after.' The seventh-year completed the cliché. 'So go the stories of Tom Tit Tot, of Kugerl and Zirkzirk in Germany, Tarandando in Italy, and Gwarwyn-a-throt in Wales. Then there's King Olaf of Norway and the giant Skaane, Esbern Snare and the giant Finn, not forgetting the night-marts of Prussia. To muggles, they are fairytale, but to wizards, there is history there as well.'

Neal continued, discussing the reasons that led to the same tale spreading across Northern Europe. 'As recently as the reign of Tom Riddle – or Lord Voldemort, as he preferred to be called – people feared the mention of the name almost as much as the wizard himself. Even today, there are surnames that conjure thoughts in our minds before we even meet their owners: Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, Lestrange. Our history is full of the same lesson: a name can be the most powerful weapon of all.'

The seventh-year reached his conclusion, leaving his class to note down their thoughts – and contemplate a Christmas holiday project to research a significant name in magical history – as he sat himself down beside Ciaran. It was towards this corner of the room that Greg ventured as the bell for morning break rang out.

'Thanks for the lesson, sir,' the first-year began.

' _Neal_ ,' the Ravenclaw corrected him. 'I'm not a professor, Greg.'

'Sorry,' Greg swallowed, stopping himself from adding 'sir' once again, before hesitating as he considered his next words.

'What's the problem, mate?'

'Well,' Greg stuttered, 'I just wondered if,' he lowered his voice, 'if he was alright,' the Slytherin nodded towards Ciaran.

'Ciaran?' Neal raised his eyebrows. 'Why don't you ask him yourself?'

The sandy-haired Gryffindor looked up at the older boy, eyes wide, before gathering up his belongings and hurriedly leaving the classroom.

'That's why,' Greg shook his head.

'It would be nice if someone in his own House was as bothered about him as you seem to be,' Neal put a hand on the first-year's shoulder. 'Not very Slytherin of you, really.'

Greg shook the older boy's arm away. 'Why does that matter?' His eyes flashed. 'If Gryffindors can treat him like that, who wants to be one?'

'Greg...' Neal pleaded, 'I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant.'

The first-year nodded slowly. 'How is Ciaran...?'

Neal sighed. 'I don't know,' he winced. 'Like I said, I'm not a professor. I'm not an expert. He was adamant that he didn't want me to talk to any of the teachers about it.'

'Tregeagle wouldn't care, anyway,' Greg shrugged. 'He's never stopped them in Defence.'

'Have you ever talked to Ciaran?'

Greg blinked. 'What do you think? You saw what happened then... Lucas tried once, in flying, and he just said he didn't need Slytherin help.'

Neal sighed. 'One day, this school is going to look at a boy like you, and actually see a person and not just the badge on your blazer. Five points to Slytherin,' he smiled, but there was an obvious tinge of sadness in his voice as he headed for the classroom exit, 'and keep trying.'

'Are you sure it's going to be alright?' Lucas sat on his bed, indecisively packing and unpacking his possessions into a travelling trunk. 'I mean, your Mum and Dad have never met another wizard...'

'Lukie,' Greg shook his head, good-naturedly. 'It will be fine. My Mum and Dad know you're coming, and they're looking forward to meeting you.'

'But...' Lucas stuttered.

'But what?'

'What if I don't have enough muggle clothes? What if I can't work out how anything works? What if I do something really stupid and your Mum and Dad hate me...?' He trailed off, biting his bottom lip as he looked apprehensively towards his friend.

'Don't be so bloody daft!' Greg smiled, scampering across the dormitory to jump onto the bunk beside Lucas. 'When have you ever not been able to work something out?' He dropped a playful arm over the redhead's shoulders. 'Anyway, I've got enough muggle clothes for this whole dormitory, so don't worry about that!'

Lucas managed a quiet laugh. 'I'm sorry, Greg, it's just... well...'

'It's your first time, isn't it?' The blond boy spoke more softly. 'I know what you mean. I remember the first time I discovered the wizarding world.'

Lucas nodded. 'Thanks, Greg.'

'It's okay,' the other boy nodded, 'just as long as you promise to help me with our homework.'

'Deal,' Lucas smiled, 'but you know you're better than me at Transfiguration.' He hesitated a moment. 'I am looking forwards to it, really... but I am still going to be a bit nervous.'

'You know what Theo would say right now?'

'No,' Lucas shook his head, 'but I guess it would be about his rugby coach?'

Greg laughed. 'Yeah. He told me this before our first Quidditch match. If you're nervous then it means you're thinking too much!'

Lucas returned his friend's grin. 'I guess that's why Theo never gets nervous then; he never thinks about anything...'

'Hey!' an affronted voice carried from the other side of the room. 'I am in here, you know.'

'Sorry, mate,' Greg stood up, trotting across to the other boy, 'I know what he means, though.'

Theo shrugged. 'At least it means I can eat my breakfast on the morning of a match.'

'I guess,' Greg conceded, 'but it's gonna make your homework hard, isn't it?' A worried look spread instantly across his friend's face as he spoke, and Greg immediately regretted the jibe.

'Tregeagle will love it,' Theo remarked, glumly. 'I bet I get another D, or worse.'

'You'll be alright with the Muggle Studies,' Greg offered. 'Just writing about different sorts of transport. Herbology's easy, too, it's just out the textbook.'

'Charms as well,' Lucas put in, 'all we have to do is review what we've done this term.'

'So why did Neal have to set us that bloody project?' Theo asked, irritated.

'It's better than what Binns would have set us,' Greg mediated. 'You never know, it might be interesting... sure beats learning Gamp's Laws or summarising the properties of different wand woods.'

'We've got three weeks to do it, anyway,' Lucas reasoned, piling the last of the necessary textbooks into one corner of his case.

' _You_ have,' Theo corrected him. 'We're going on holiday almost straight away, for two weeks, and there's no way I'll be able to take my things with me.'

'When do you get back?' Greg asked.

'Why does it matter?'

'Because,' Greg spoke slowly, 'I was gonna suggest that me and Lucas could come up to London a couple of days before the end of the holidays, and try and help you out,' he paused, 'but if it doesn't matter...'

'No,' Theo swallowed, 'that's not what I meant.' He flicked the long fringe of his blond hair away from his eyes. 'That would be really cool. I'll ring you before we go.'

'Cool,' Greg echoed his friend. 'Now, have you guys finished packing yet?' He grinned. 'This is our last chance to have a snowball fight! I promise you it won't be snowing in Chudleigh...'


	15. The Huntsmen

'Come on, Lucas, wake up!' Greg knocked on the door of the spare bedroom at 11, Manaton Close, calling into the morning half-light.

'No...' the other boy mumbled. 'Go away, Kevin.'

'Lukie?' Greg knocked again. 'It's not Kevin, it's Greg. You alright?'

'What?' This time the other boy's eyes blinked slowly open. 'Oh,' he smiled, weakly. 'Yeah.'

'Don't worry about Kevin,' Greg shook his head. 'That tosser's not going to bother you this week.'

Lucas nodded.

'Come on then!' Greg laughed. 'It's Christmas day. We can't start without you!'

'Me...?' Lucas rubbed his eyes.

'Who else did you think I meant?'

The redheaded boy laughed, pushing himself out of the bed and grabbing a plain white t-shirt from the top of a chest of drawers.

'Happy Christmas, Mum, Dad!' Greg announced as he burst into the Bennetts' front room.

'And a Happy Christmas to you too, Greg,' Elaine Bennett echoed, embracing her only son, 'and Lucas, of course,' she smiled.

'Happy Christmas, Mrs Bennett,' Lucas replied, quietly.

'Let's start with yours, Lucas,' Greg suggested, enthusiastically, picking up a present from a pile behind him. 'This is from me,' he explained.

'Thanks,' Lucas began to unwrap the gift. 'Get the most out of your broomstick,' he read the cover of a book. '101 tips for faster flying.'

'I was gonna get you _Flying for Dummies_ ,' Greg joked, 'but the first page told you which end of the broom was which, and I thought you could just about manage that already.'

Lucas smiled. 'Thanks, Greg.' He put the book down by his side, reaching for another parcel. 'This is for you.'

'Cool,' Greg began to pull off the wrapping paper off another book. 'Magic for Muggle-borns: what every wizard should know.'

'I couldn't think of what to get you...' Lucas blushed as he watched his friend examine the hardback.

'It's okay, mate,' Greg looked up, noticing his friend's concerned face. 'This is great. Thank you.' He reached an arm around the other boy's shoulders.

'I'm afraid there's nothing magical from us,' Joseph Bennett, Greg's father, a thin man with fine greying hair, explained as he picked out two presents for the boys. 'You're always going on about how cold it is up there!' He grinned as his son unwrapped a thick winter coat. 'Suitable for the arctic, it says, so that should do you for Scotland.'

'Thanks, Dad.'

'Wow,' Lucas interrupted, opening his own present, revealing a smart fleece jacket. 'Thank you...' he stuttered, uncertain how to react.

'That's alright, Lucas,' Elaine answered the eleven-year-old. 'I'm glad you like it.'

'It's brilliant,' he smiled. 'This is the best Christmas ever.'

'Wait for Mum's Christmas Dinner, then,' Greg laughed. 'It's going to get even better!'

'Well, Lucas,' Joseph Bennett turned to his son's friend the following evening, as the three of them got off a noisy, single-deck bus that had rattled along Chudleigh's main street. 'Still the best Christmas ever?'

'Yes,' the boy answered, emphatically.

'For me as well,' Greg added with a wide grin, 'especially after that – 4-0, against Aldershot! Did you see Challinor's goal?' The blond boy did his best to recreate Exeter's third goal of the afternoon, skipping around a lamppost before striking an imaginary football high and hard beyond a forlorn goalkeeper.

'Maybe that'll be you one day, Greg,' the man ruffled his son's hair. 'Not sure your name fits _Amarillo_ quite so well, though,' he smiled as the boys took up the terrace chant.

'Cha-la-la-la-la, la-li-nor, Cha-la-la-la-la, la-li-nor, Cha-la-la-la-la, la-li-nor, Jonny C will score for me!' Lucas couldn't stop himself from giggling as Greg's voice grew louder, attracting a few bemused stares from locals as they walked past a whitewashed pub called the Highwayman's Haunt.

'Mr Bennett,' the redhead enquired, 'what's a highwayman?'

'Oh,' the man started to answer, 'a long story, Lucas.' He paused. 'What do you know about British history?'

'A bit,' Lucas tensed, biting his lip as he wondered how to answer.

'Do you know about Elizabethan times?' Greg's father continued, 'the sixteenth century?'

'A bit,' the boy repeated himself. 'That was before the Statute of Secrecy, so some things kind of overlap,' he explained.

'Good,' Joseph began. 'Well, back then we didn't have proper roads, or cars, or any of this like you see today.' He gestured loosely to the street around them as they walked along. 'If you wanted to get anywhere, you had to go in a horse-drawn carriage, down narrow, uneven forest tracks – or highways. Of course,' the man added, 'we didn't have any streetlights, either, so it was pitch black overnight, except for any candles or lanterns you had on your carriage.'

'Now, they were quite good for helping you to see,' Joseph continued, 'but they were even better for helping other people to see _you_ – and when that person was a highwayman, and he had a gun, and you didn't, then that really wasn't good news.'

Lucas nodded his understanding. 'Were there lots of highwaymen around here?'

'They say so,' Mr Bennett replied, 'but there were more up on the moor.' He angled his head toward the west of the town, where the boys knew that the granite masses of Dartmoor rose up into the heart of Devon. 'There are a lot of stories about the moor, though, stories that can't be real...' he tailed off, looking back down at the two children. 'Or could they?'

'Theo!' Greg called excitedly along the platform at Paddington station as he sighted his best friend, waiting beside the famous statue of the eponymous bear.

'Hey, Greg,' the other boy smiled back, flicking the fringe of his blond hair, which was long at the start of the holidays and clearly hadn't been cut since, away from his eyes. 'Hi, Luc.'

'Not getting it cut, then?' Greg laughed

'No!' Theo ducked away as the other blond reached out to disturb the strands that now dipped beyond the bottom of his ears. 'Come on,' he beckoned, 'we've got to get to the underground.'

'Underground?' Lucas asked, his voice uncertain.

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, 'just another train,' he explained. 'Use it in your homework!' He hurried after Theo as his friend nipped through the staircases and corridors that led down to the subway stations. 'Did you have a good holiday?'

'Yes,' he smiled, glancing over his shoulder as the boys passed through a ticket barrier. 'I've got some photos at home; I'll show you when we get back. What about you?'

'Good, thanks,' Greg answered, following Theo as they wound through the tunnels approaching the platform edge. 'We found out some really weird stuff when we were researching Neal's project, too. Tell you later.'

The boys kept up their idle chatter as the tube train clattered its short journey through the centre of the city towards Theo's suburban home, discussing their holiday and reminding one another of the things they were looking forward to the most ahead of their return to school.

'This is ours,' Theo indicated the white fronting of a particular Georgian town house, a few moments after the boys had emerged into the chilly London air. 'We're back,' he announced into the entrance hall, pushing the front door open. 'Come on,' he turned to his friends, 'let's go upstairs.'

'I wish we could levitate our trunks,' Lucas muttered, helping his friends to lift Greg's case up the stairwell.

Theo nodded his agreement. 'Particularly as we're on the top floor.'

'What?' Greg blinked, disbelieving.

'Just think of it like Quidditch training,' Theo shrugged.

'When have we ever had Quidditch training like this?' Greg answered back. 'It's not rugby, you know, Theo!'

'Whatever!' The other boy stuck his tongue out, letting the trunk drop to the floor as they reached the topmost landing. 'It's easier on the way down.' The three children repeated their task, heaving Lucas' case to the top of the stairs, before Theo led them through into his own bedroom.

'Think I'll take this off now,' Greg unzipped the thick jacket his parents had bought him for Christmas, and laid it on top of his trunk.

'Yeah,' Lucas agreed, removing his own fleece, 'way too hot.'

'Here's my holiday pictures,' Theo reached for a laptop computer, waiting for it to load its contents. 'We went to Cape Town,' he set the computer onto his bed, unfastening his coat and revealing his sunbrowned arms.

'Can tell you haven't been in England!' Greg laughed, comparing his own paler skin with his friend's.

'I think my back's browner than that!' Theo smiled, pulling his t-shirt over his head. 'Yeah!'

'Oh, piss off,' Greg rolled his eyes, 'and put your shirt back on. It's bloody January!'

Theo grinned impishly, before following his friend's instructions as he clicked through his computer's menu screens. 'This is Table Mountain,' he introduced a picture of a slate grey peak that towered above the city in its shadow, 'and this is Newlands rugby ground. I did a rugby course there...'

Greg and Lucas did their best to retain interested expressions as they watched Theo scroll through the roll of pictures, ranging from rugby pitches and swimming pools to safari parks and penguin-filled beaches. 'So that was my holiday,' he concluded.

'Cool,' Greg nodded, glancing mischievously at Lucas. 'Not quite Wistman's Wood, though, is it?'

Lucas laughed as Theo sat up, affronted. 'What?' he stuttered. 'Whose wood?'

'Wistman's Wood,' the redhead repeated. 'Home, so the stories go, to the Wild Hunt.'

Theo pushed the lid of his laptop shut. 'The Wild Hunt? Is that like the Headless Hunt?'

Lucas shrugged. 'I don't know,' he shook his head, 'but listen to what we found out.' He pushed himself up from his friend's bed, unfastening his travelling trunk and lifting out a neat ring binder.

'I got him using muggle stuff,' Greg grinned as the other boy opened up the folder and began to read.

'The Wild Hunt,' he began, 'is found in stories of mythology and folklore across Britain and Northern Europe. Whilst the exact nature of the huntsmen differs from region to region, a handful of key similarities link each legend: giant black dogs, leaders with no compassion for their prey, and ranks that would chase to the ends of the earth.'

'Is this part of Neal's project?' Theo asked, and Greg nodded quickly as he took over his friend's narration. 'My Dad was talking about different stories that he'd heard about Dartmoor. He told us stories he'd heard as a little boy, stories that he'd been convinced couldn't have been true: but now that he knew about the magical world, now he wasn't so sure.'

'There were lots of stories about the Hunt,' Lucas continued, 'ambushing travellers, foretelling death... and they all kept leading back to Wistman's Wood.'

'So we did the first thing we could think of,' Greg noticed Theo's eyes stare grimly back at him as he spoke. 'Me, Luc, Matt and Dad – we went to the wood to see what it was like for ourselves.'

'Did you see anything...?'

'No,' Lucas shook his head, 'and I'm glad we didn't, now we've read all the stories,' he shuddered. 'We could feel it, though – all of us, even Greg's Dad. There was something strange about the place, something in the air that made you nervous every time you went round a new corner or came to a fork in the road.'

'You know when you walk into a classroom after the seventh-years have been in there?' Greg continued. 'When you can tell someone's done some powerful magic, but you just don't know what. This was the same. Matt said it was something like a magical signature.'

'That's not all, though,' Lucas took on the narrative before Theo had a chance to ask any further questions. 'We were looking up the Hunt, trying to find out more about it, and there's lots of stories, but there was one name, one name that kept coming up...' he tailed off, staring at Theo as he discovered he could no longer find the words with which he wanted to continue.

'Who?' Theo stared back.

Greg took a deep breath. 'Tregeagle.'

'Crap.'

'Yeah,' Greg smiled, slowly. 'I guess you could put it like that.'

'But...' Theo shook his head. ' _Our_ Tregeagle?'

'It must be some relation,' Lucas answered. 'Even the muggle stories agree that Jan Tregeagle was a real person, a lawyer in the 17th century – selfish, greedy, arrogant. Classic Slytherin,' the boy sighed. 'There's a story that he was sent to hell, but returned to a courtroom to give evidence against someone who owed money. Then the jury agreed that they couldn't send him back to hell, so they gave him tasks to do that would keep him busy – but safe from the Wild Hunt – forever.'

Theo nodded, digesting his friends' stories. 'He was definitely a wizard...?'

Greg nodded. 'Yes.'

'Muggles can't come back as ghosts,' Lucas explained. 'He must have been a wizard. So Professor Tregeagle must be descended from him.'

'And so must Joshua,' Greg concluded.

'Joshua?' Theo gazed at the other blond boy.

'Yes,' Greg shrugged, nonplussed by his friend's reaction. 'Joshua Tregeagle. Gryffindor, in our year. One of Dawlish's mates. How else do you think he gets such good marks in Defence, but not in anything else? How do you think he knew about my detention with Slughorn?'

Theo sighed, nodding as he recognised the truth in his friend's observations.

'You can figure out what's made Tregeagle find out so much about Dark magic, though, can't you?' Lucas asked, rhetorically. 'If you know that the hounds of hell once chased your great-great-great grandfather to the end of the earth and back, you'd want to know how to cover yourself, wouldn't you?'

'I'd want to know more than how to cover myself,' Theo reflected. 'I'd want to know how to take them out, once and for all.' He shook his head. 'God, if you've found all that out, what am I going to do for my project?'

Greg glanced quickly to Lucas, and the two boys shared a thin smirk. 'Don't worry about that,' he grinned, lifting the front of the folder to reveal a cover that listed all three of the boys' names.

'But...'

'You're doing the illustrations,' Greg answered his friend's question before it could even be asked.

'Oh,' Theo laughed, 'cool. You don't fancy doing the other work as well, do you? I'll illustrate that, too,' he grinned.

'No chance, mate,' Greg laughed. 'We've hardly started the rest, anyway,' he explained. 'We spent all our time trying to find out about Tregeagle.'

'Oh well.' Theo shrugged, amiably. 'It was worth a try, I suppose.' He smiled. 'Which one are we going to start with first, then?'


	16. Ravenclaw

**A/N: Thanks to all for the reads and especially the reviews. It's all starting to come to the boil quite nicely - please do keep on letting me know how what you think of the characters and the storyline... and maybe what you think might happen next...?**

* * *

'Morning, guys. Come on in.' Neal Kennedy had decided that he would spend the first few study lessons of the new year going through his students' projects individually, rather than covering any new material. 'I thought you guys would probably prefer coming in together.'

The four Slytherin boys murmured their agreement as they pushed their way through the classroom door, clustering around a circular table at the front of the room. 'Thanks, Neal,' Greg spoke the most clearly.

'Yeah, thanks,' the other Slytherins echoed their friend.

'Anything's better than another lesson with Dawlish,' Isaac observed, drily.

Neal returned the boy's smile. 'We'll start off with yours then, Isaac.' The seventh-year lifted a thinly bound set of parchment off his desk. 'The Peverells,' he read. 'A fairly orthodox choice, wouldn't you agree?'

Isaac's eyes narrowed and he stared, stony-faced, back at the older boy. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean I got a little bit bored by the time I'd read the sixth project about them,' Neal explained. 'There's only so many times you can read about the Tale of the Three Brothers.'

'You don't have to mark any exams in the summer, do you? Isaac blinked. 'Cause I reckon they'll all be pretty similar, too.'

Neal laughed. 'It's okay, Isaac. I'm not having a go at you about it.'

'Oh,' Isaac's expression softened.

'It's just my sense of humour isn't much good. Sorry,' the seventh-year grinned as the younger boy rolled his eyes. 'It was a good project, anyway,' he flicked through to the back of the parchment, where a neat "E" sat inside a circle. 'You've researched the supposed descendents of the Peverells much more thoroughly than anyone else. Well done.' He smiled, pushing the project across the desk towards the first-year.

'Thank you,' Isaac nodded, taking the sheets of parchment and flicking through them to search out the older boy's further comments.

'So,' Neal continued, turning his attention to the other first-years as Isaac browsed his own work, 'Tregeagle.' He lifted their folder, running his eyes across the title page, now adorned with Theo's stylised image of one of the Wisht Hounds of the Wild Hunt. 'An interesting choice,' he remarked, 'and not one I'd expected to see. Can I ask you what made you pick him?'

Lucas and Greg glanced at each other, before the blond boy replied. 'It just, sort of, happened...' He drew a breath, aware that his explanation hadn't really answered the Ravenclaw's question. 'I live in Chudleigh,' he began, 'and over Christmas, Dad was talking about all the old legends of Dartmoor. He'd always thought that they couldn't possibly be true,' Greg paused. 'Now, though... now he knows that magic's for real, and he couldn't help but wonder whether the stories _were_ true, after all.'

'Then, we were reading about the Wild Hunt, and we saw the name,' Lucas continued, 'and we couldn't just ignore it.'

'Fair enough,' the seventh-year nodded. 'It certainly taught me some things.' He opened the folder. 'I'm not sure I'll be asking the Professor whether any of it's true, though.'

'Me neither,' Theo offered, and the older boy laughed at the first-year's blunt honesty.

'It's a fantastic effort, boys,' he turned the project around, showing a clear "O" on the back page, 'but there's one question you've left unanswered.' He paused. 'What's happened to the Wild Hunt now? When did anyone last see them?'

'Um,' Greg swallowed. 'We wondered if, maybe, the Headless Hunt was the same thing?

'No,' Neal shook his head, decisively. 'They're a bunch of charlatans. A social club for ghosts who've had their heads chopped off. There's nothing sinister about them, nothing at all. The Wild Hunt's got more in common with the Grim.'

'The Grim?' Theo asked.

'It's a giant black dog,' Isaac had finished looking through his own project, and was listening in to the other boys' conversation with interest. 'Some people say it's real, some say it's just legend. It's meant to be an omen of death.'

'Just like the Wild Hunt,' Greg shook his head. 'Who knows...?'

'I hope we never find out,' Lucas muttered.

'You've got plenty to worry about on the Quidditch pitch, anyway, without worrying about this lot as well,' Neal grinned, wickedly. 'Three weeks and your chances will be over.'

'Says who?' Isaac retorted.

'Oh, you don't really think you can beat us, do you?' The seventh-year asked. 'You never even scored a goal against Gryffindor.'

'So,' Theo glared at the older boy, affronted. 'We're getting better. You know how much they thrashed us by last year.'

The Ravenclaw shrugged. 'I know you're getting better,' he admitted, 'but do you know how to win?'

'What?' Theo blinked. 'Of course we do...'

'I'm just saying,' Neal continued, 'I know you'll give us a tough game; you won't make it easy like it was last year... but you haven't got the experience of playing under pressure, of scoring goals when it really matters – and your seeker's never got the snitch yet.'

'Hasn't he?' Isaac blurted out.

'What, didn't you know?' The Ravenclaw seeker barely concealed a grin. 'I'm backing our chasers to get more than you do every day of the week, so all I've got to do is stop a kid from catching the snitch for the first time ever.'

'Oh, whatever,' Isaac rolled his eyes.

'I'm just saying,' the seventh-year smirked, 'don't get your hopes up.'

'We'll see,' Greg replied, calmly.

'Well, I won't keep you any longer. You've got plenty of work to do, boys. I'll let you get on with it' Neal smiled as the younger boys got up to leave his classroom. 'Well done on your projects,' he called after them, turning back to the unreturned pile on his desk.

'Git,' Isaac muttered as he followed his friends through the door.

'Forget it, Zac,' Greg shook his head. 'He's just trying to wind you up.'

'And succeeding,' Theo added.

'It's all true though, isn't it?' Lucas' voice was grim. 'We've never won a game, and Ossie's never caught the snitch...'

'So?' Greg retorted. 'Muggle-borns never end up in Slytherin. There's a first time for everything.'

'I don't know why anyone would want to transfigure a snail into a teapot, anyway,' Theo complained, throwing his wand down in frustration as he watched the snail on the table in front of him slowly grow a handle out of its shell.

'That's not the point, mate,' Greg looked up, amused, from his copy of _Quidditch Through The Ages_. 'It's meant to make you concentrate on holding the image in your mind, like McGonagall says. Watch.' He reached across, touching the tip of his own wand to the peak of the snail's shell, and closing his eyes. 'Escarté.'

'It's alright for you,' Theo muttered, watching the snail change in front of him as he spoke. 'You're good at this. My spells either don't work at all or just kill whatever I'm meant to be transforming.'

Greg laughed. 'You should try transfiguring Dawlish sometime soon, then.'

'It's not funny!' Theo shook his head. 'I'm crap at everything. Even the stuff you think is easy, I can't even do that.' He slumped back onto the black leather of the common room sofa. 'The best grade I got on the holiday work was "Acceptable"... and this is first-year stuff! What's going to happen when it gets hard?'

'Theo...' Greg let his book drop, shifting quickly over to sit with his friend. 'You'll be fine; I know you will.'

'How?' The other boy's eyes reddened as he fought to stop himself from crying. 'I feel like a squib...' He turned away from his friend, hiding his face against the upholstery.

'Theo...' Greg repeated himself, feeling lost for anything else to say. 'You're not a squib. You can't be; squibs have magical parents.'

'See! Look, I don't even know what a squib is!' Theo, his eyes burning, turned back to the other first-year for a split second, before burying his face away into the back of the sofa.

Greg swore privately to himself, before reaching out to rest a consoling arm on his friend's shoulder, silently grateful that Theo didn't just shake it away.

'Hey, Greg,' the first-year looked up as he heard his name being called from the common room door.

'Oh, hi Ossie.' Greg recognised the other boy.

'What's up with Theo?' The fourth-year planted himself on the armchair beside his friends' sofa.

Greg glanced between the other two blonds, wondering how much of Theo's story he ought to tell. 'Oh,' he stalled, playing for time. 'Just a bad day,' he shrugged.

'One of those,' Oscar smiled, 'everyone has them.' He spoke clearly enough for Theo to know he was meant to overhear. 'No one's bothering you, are they mate?'

'No,' Theo muttered into the cushions. 'Just McGonagall and her stupid snails.'

'Escarté, right?' Oscar remembered. 'Someone in our year exploded something like five or six snails in one lesson. McGonagall ended up making them do it inside a shield charm.'

Theo snorted.

'They still passed, though?' Greg asked the older boy.

'Yeah,' Oscar nodded. 'You've got to be _really_ thick for them to make you repeat a year. You've got nothing to worry about, Theo.'

Greg nudged Theo's shoulder. 'See, come on mate,' he pleaded. 'You'll figure it out, I know you will.'

'Remember Lucas' flying,' Oscar offered, 'he couldn't even get off the ground at the start of term.'

Theo turned slowly to face the other boys. 'Thanks,' he muttered, wiping the back of his wrist across his still-raw eyes. 'Oscar,' he swallowed, 'can I ask you something?'

'Sure,' the older boy smiled.

'Is it true that you've never caught the snitch?'

Oscar's smile faded.

'It is, isn't it?' Theo pressed. 'Then...' he snatched at the words, 'how do you feel before the game? How do you make yourself feel like you're going to do something you've never done before?' He blinked, switching his gaze back to a stubbornly untransfigured snail.

Oscar swallowed. 'That's a good question,' he admitted. 'I guess I've never really thought of it like that,' he shook his head.

'So...' Theo continued, slowly. 'What do you think about before a game?'

'Just the snitch,' Oscar answered, '...and, I guess, whoever I'm meant to be marking when we're defending.'

'Is that it?'

'Yes,' the older boy nodded. 'Why should I think about something that's in the past? It's not going to change anything in the future. I know I can get the snitch. I've done it plenty of times in practice. I know it'll happen in a match soon.'

The first-year managed a thin smile. 'It's like what my rugby coach used to say,' he recalled. 'If you don't think you can do it, who else is going to?'

'I think you can,' Greg offered, softly. He coughed, realising how quiet his voice had been. 'Both of you.'

'Thanks, mate.' Oscar grinned. 'This place has got so much better since you guys sorted here. Even if you aren't much for old Slytherin traditions.'

Greg shook his head, defiantly. 'Not when the old traditions are full of crap.'

The older boy's smile grew wider. 'Your language has got so much worse, though.'

'Oh, piss off,' Greg laughed. 'Like that's not the rest of your fault!'

'Hey,' Oscar ruffled the first-year's blond hair. 'We never made you say anything.'

'Whatever,' the younger boy rolled his eyes, changing the subject. 'Let's have a go at that transfiguration again, Theo.' He leaned over his friend's textbook. 'Think about the shell, the body and the antennae, and think about what you want each of them to turn into.'

Theo nodded, his eyes focusing on the back of the snail in front of him. 'Escarté, right?'

'Yeah,' Greg smiled encouragingly. 'Touch your wand against the shell and block everything else out of your mind. I know you can do it.'

'Okay,' Theo took a deep breath. 'Escarté.' He held his stare, a grin slowly spreading across his face as the creature began to morph in front of him. 'Cool...'

'Told you,' Greg smiled. 'There's a first time for everything.' He looked across to Oscar. 'Now you'd better catch that bloody snitch!'

'Well, it's matchday three in the 2006 Quidditch Cup,' Dan Beretta's excitable voice carried across a rain-sodden stadium as the two teams lined up in the wooden gangway that led from their changing rooms to the pitch. 'Today sees Slytherin, undoubtedly better than last year but still to score a point this season, take on Ravenclaw, fresh from their opening victory against Hufflepuff.'

'The first team to win a Hogwarts Quidditch match without capturing the snitch since 1947,' Dan Buckley's Northern vowels cut across his co-commentator, 'when Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor was abandoned due to the heavy snow...'

'No one cares about 1947, Dan,' the first voice shot back. 'I bet that was before even McGonagall was here... Ouch!'

'Who do you think just hit him?' Greg turned to his fellow first-years as they waited to fly onto the pitch. 'Tregeagle? Longbottom?'

'I reckon it was McGonagall herself!' Theo laughed. 'Maybe she _was_ here back in 1947!'

There was no time for the boys to continue their speculation, however, as the commentators' voices announced that the time had come for their entry into the arena.

'Ravenclaw are unchanged from the side that beat Hufflepuff,' Beretta began. 'They line up with captain Charlie Sullivan in goal, Fran Harris, Becky Tarrant and Ash Morgan are the all-girl chaser line, Tom Kelly and Connor Campbell guard the bludgers and Neal Kennedy will be hunting the snitch.'

'It's as you were for Slytherin too,' Buckley continued. 'Seb Burns is the keeper, the chasers are Greg Bennett, Isaac Davies and skipper Matt Sawyer, the beaters are Theo Forrest and Lucas Brand, and Oscar Symons will be looking for his first successful capture of the snitch.'

'Like you said, first time for everything,' the prefect whispered in Greg's ear, lowering his goggles over his eyes as the boys formed up around the centre of the pitch. 'Let's go.'

'The bludgers are up, followed by the golden snitch,' Beretta took over the commentary once again. 'Now Professor Wood releases the quaffle, and THE GAME BEGINS! I hope it's more interesting than the last time we saw Slytherin in action...'

'Just because _you_ didn't enjoy it, Dan, that doesn't mean no one else did,' Buckley shot back.

'And just because you _did_ enjoy it, Dan,' Beretta paraphrased his friend, 'that doesn't mean anyone else did! I want to see some goals... and I think Ravenclaw have got the same idea. It's Harris, now Tarrant, back to Harris, Morgan, Harris again, there's the shot; Burns gets a hand to it, but that's not enough! 10-0 Ravenclaw! We've got a game on our hands!'

'Are you really trying to tell me you enjoyed that last snooze-fest more than this one, Dan?' Beretta exhaled deeply as a long blast on Professor Wood's whistle signalled the end of the first period. 'It's Ravenclaw 80, Slytherin 20, and it looks like the Eagles have thought their way around my friend's favourite zonal defence.'

'It's been a good hour, I can't argue with that, Dan' Buckley replied. 'Quick, sharp passing, wonderful movement, and inch-perfect finishing from Frances Harris: she's onto ten for the season and looks hungry for more.'

'Can you see a way back for Slytherin, Dan?'

'Well, right now the Ravenclaw chasers are the difference. The possession and territory have been just about equal, but Harris' performance in front of goal has been first-rate, particularly given these conditions, and Seb Burns hasn't been able to live with it.' Buckley paused. 'Of course the snitch is still up for grabs, but can Symons make his first ever catch in such a pressure situation?'

'Ignore him, it's all a load of bull,' Matthew thumped his fist against the wooden bench inside the changing room, and Greg recognised the same fierce intensity in his glare as there had been after the game against Gryffindor. 'We _are_ still in this game. Ossie,' he turned to his best friend, 'forget marking. We won't win without the snitch – do everything you can to get it.'

'Alright, mate.' The other fourth-year nodded.

'Seb,' Matthew looked across to his keeper, 'how can we stop Harris?'

The third-year boy shrugged, as wordless as ever.

'Oh, come on!' Matthew snapped, standing up. 'Give us something to work with here! How can we help you if you don't tell us what you want us to do?'

'Matt...' Oscar stood across his friend. 'Remember last time,' he whispered.

'I'll take her,' Theo announced, striking his beater's bat down into his free hand. 'She won't have it all her own way this time.'

Matthew grinned. 'Alright, then,' he clapped his hands together. 'Let's show the rest of the school we're not just here to make up the numbers. Let's stuff those commentators' words back down their throats. _Come on!_ '

Theo made good on his promise within minutes of the start of the second period, striking the back of Frances Harris' broom with a firmly-hit bludger, though not before the Ravenclaw had extended her team's lead.

'Shot, Theo!' Greg yelled out as he watched the opponents' star chaser spiral to the floor.

'Shut up and get the quaffle!' Matthew's voice interrupted the first-years, and Greg lunged to grab the ball as it drifted downwards. 'Now chuck it here!'

Greg didn't need any further invitation, spinning the ball hard towards his captain and setting off downfield, the Ravenclaw defence hurriedly reorganising itself whilst Frances swapped her battered broom for a replacement.

'It's Sawyer on the Slytherin right, and he's got Bennett and Davies in close support,' Dan Beretta narrated the attack. 'Tarrant closes him down, but Bennett's there for the offload... he finds Davies, who picks out Bennett again. He's one-on-one with Sullivan! SAVED!'

Greg swore aloud, unthinkingly, as he watched the quaffle sink towards the ground.

'Davies is first to react!' Beretta's voice never halted for more than a moment. 'Sullivan's off balance. It must be – it is! Slytherin score! It's 100 to 30.'

'I wonder what the odds of that were?' Buckley deadpanned, earning himself a punch on the arm from his colleague.

'That is the single – worst – joke,' Beretta paused between words, giving himself the chance to hit out in rhythm, 'I have _ever_ heard.' He talked over Greg's excited celebration, as the first-year flung his arms around his friend. 'I apologise for asking you to try and be more interesting. Here,' the commentator searched for a change of subject, 'tell us all about Frances Harris' new broom.'

'It's a Comet 320,' Buckley explained. 'Nothing like as manoeuvrable as her new 360, and it might well hamper her performance.'

'So Forrest might well get her again,' Beretta made no attempt to disguise his enthusiasm. 'It's always great to see a young beater score his first takedown. I wonder if the game's going to open up now that Harris is less of an influence? Maybe Burns will start to get the better of her between the hoops?

'We'll soon find out,' the other Hufflepuff answered. 'Here she is, one-on-one – no support as the Gryffindor boys have flown Tarrant and Morgan out of it. Harris versus Burns... SAVE!'

'Game on, it looks like, Dan,' Beretta continued, breathlessly. 'It's a shame Ravenclaw have got that seventy-point start,' he mused, 'cause this is turning out into a cracker.'

'It's end-to-end Quidditch, no doubt about that,' Buckley took up the narration. 'Here's Isaac Davies, the youngest boy to play Hogwarts Quidditch in...' he flicked through a wad of sheets on the bench in front of him, 'well, probably ever.'

'Probably?' Beretta teased. 'You've been slacking off, Dan. _Probably?_ '

'Early records of dates of birth are incomplete,' the other boy snapped. 'He's the youngest I've got any proof about!

'You might not know if he's the youngest player ever, Dan,' Beretta continued on, 'but I know he's in on goal today. He draws Sullivan out right, and – _that's brilliant!_ – out of the scoring area, where he finds Greg Bennett, and no one's going to miss from the position he's in!'

'100 to 40,' Buckley read out the score. 'Two first-years on the scoresheet, and I can tell you for certain that hasn't happened since 1919.'

'When McGonagall...' Beretta caught himself, 'most certainly was _not_ born. Anyway, it's Ravenclaw back on the attack, Tarrant with the quaffle on the Ravenclaw left.'

'Davies covers her inside, Bennett's marking Morgan...'

'Never mind Morgan, check out Oscar Symons!' Beretta screamed, as he watched the Slytherin seeker lunge headlong through the driving rain. 'Kennedy has had him in his pocket for an hour and fifteen minutes, but the Slytherin has stolen a march on him here. I'm not sure where the snitch is myself, but it looks like he is.'

'Or is he?' Buckley cut in. 'Kennedy's going off in the other direction entirely. Who's fooling who?

'Kennedy stops up, checking over his shoulder to see what Symons is doing – look at the angle of that dive...' Beretta gasped as Oscar hurled himself down, closer and closer towards the ground as twelve of the other players paused to watch his descent.

'Becky Tarrant makes it 110 to 40...' Buckley muttered, half-heartedly.

'Which won't matter at all,' Beretta dismissed his friend, 'not if Symons catches the snitch...'

Oscar tumbled from his broomstick, skidding gracelessly through the dirt that was once the grass of the Quidditch pitch.

'It's too far away for me to see what's happened. Wood's on the scene... will we hear the whistle? YES!' Beretta yelled out as the stadium fell almost silent. 'Oscar Symons has caught the snitch for the very first time! It's 190 to 110, and Slytherin have beaten Ravenclaw!'

'That's their first win in nearly six years, Dan,' Buckley added, 'and certainly the first that any of the players on the pitch now will remember.'

'I don't think any of them care about that right now, Dan,' the other commentator replied as the Slytherin players mobbed their seeker. 'All they're bothered about is that it's their mate who's caught the snitch. Stats are for later, mate: this is all about the moment.'

'That was brilliant!' Once more, Glyn had waited outside the stadium for the Slytherin players after the game. 'No one around us thought you had a chance, except for me and Jai...'

'Thanks, mate,' Greg smiled broadly as he high-fived the Hufflepuff, 'but it was Oscar who won it for us.'

'Oh, shut up, Greg,' the older boy shook his head. 'It wasn't just me, and you know it.'

'Shut up you, as well!' Matthew grabbed his best friend around the neck. 'Who bloody cares? _We won_! Now come on, let's enjoy it! To the dungeons!'

'You too,' Greg grabbed Glyn's arm as he sensed the Welsh boy hesitating. 'You've got way more right to be there than any of those other losers who've ignored us all year.'

'Catuvellauni,' Matthew touched his wand against the doorway that led to the Slytherin common room, his grin growing wider as he noticed a crate of cold butterbeer sitting on the table by the fireplace. 'Talk us through that dive again, Ossie,' he tossed one of the bottles to his best friend, before collapsing into the biggest of the armchairs.

'Didn't you see it?' Oscar laughed, flicking the top from the bottle with a wave of his wand. 'Liberamphora.'

'Kennedy sure didn't!' Isaac put in, copying the prefect's spell. 'What was he trying to do, anyway?'

'Do when?' The seeker looked up.

'When you were after the snitch, and he flew off the other way!' Isaac snorted.

'Did he?' Oscar blinked. 'Probably trying to distract me...' he shrugged. 'I didn't realise – I was looking at the snitch!'

Isaac laughed aloud. 'I can't wait for History on Tuesday now.'

'I bet you're the first kid who's said that in this school in at least 200 years!' Matthew downed the contents of his bottle. 'How long has Binns been boring the crap out of us for?'

'How should I know?' Oscar shrugged. 'Long enough!' He copied his friend in polishing off a full bottle of butterbeer.

'What do you think Neal is going to say about it?' Theo opened his own drink, suddenly realising to his surprise that his charm had worked at the first attempt.

Lucas took his turn to answer. 'What would you say if you were him?'

'I wouldn't say anything!' Theo grinned.

'Well I bet he won't, either,' Lucas replied.

Isaac thumped the side of one of the sofas, animatedly. 'We can't let him get away with that,' he declared. 'Not after what he said, what was it? He'd only got to stop someone who'd never got the snitch before from catching it for the first time. Unlucky!' He stood up, reaching across to high-five the seeker.

'We can't just go and piss him off, though,' Greg reasoned, 'he's still teaching us for the rest of the year.'

'Plus you need him to beat Gryffindor if you want to win the Cup.' Glyn broke his silence.

' _Win_ the Cup?' Matthew spluttered. 'Can we still do that?'

'Yes...' Glyn began cautiously, 'you can still all end up tied on two wins, and if that happens then the winner is the team who's scored the most points.' He paused. 'Gryffindor are going to beat Hufflepuff, and so are you – because we're crap – so then if Ravenclaw beat Gryffindor, then you and Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are all tied... and most points wins.'

Matthew nodded, slowly. 'Get that man a butterbeer.'

'But...' Glyn tried to protest. 'They're yours...'

'There's plenty to go round,' the captain stood up, steadying himself against the chair arm, before tossing a bottle to the Hufflepuff. 'Liberamphora.'

'Come on, down it!' Theo encouraged.

'Yeah, down it!' Matthew needed no second invitation to join in what swiftly became a chant. 'Down it, down it, down it!'

'Um,' the Welsh boy hesitated, glancing nervously towards Greg.

'I'll do it as well,' the other first-year seemed to have read his friend's mind. 'Come on, on three. One, two...'

The gathered boys cheered as the two first-years emptied their bottles, covering their chins and throats with the spilling liquid in the process.

'Wow...' Glyn stuttered, depositing the empty bottle on the table in front of him. 'Can I have another one?'

Matthew laughed. 'Come on, everyone – that includes you, Seb – get in a circle. Ossie, go and get your first year history of magic notes.'

'What?' the prefect complained. 'Why me?'

'Just go and get them.' He continued. 'We're going to play a little game. Ossie's going to read out a goblin uprising or something, and you've got to guess the year. If you get it right you drink one finger's worth, right decade two fingers, right century three fingers, wrong century you down it!'

Oscar grinned as he headed towards the staircase that led to the dormitories. 'Fine,' he agreed, 'but you're going first.'

'Alright,' the captain nodded. 'Come on,' he implored, 'get in a circle. Has everyone got a bottle?' He dug into the crate as the other children re-arranged their seats.

'Okay, Matt,' Oscar called moments later, returning from his room. 'question one: when was dragon breeding outlawed?'

'Oh,' Matthew winced, 'I know this, Hagrid mentioned it... three hundred years ago or something... 1705?'

'Close,' Oscar smirked. '1709. Two fingers.'

'Not bad,' Matthew shrugged, lifting his bottle to drink as required. 'Theo, you're next.' He turned to the blond boy beside him. 'What's the question, Ossie?'

'Hmm,' the prefect considered, placing his notes down. 'When was the first Quidditch World Cup?'

'Oh, I know!' Isaac interrupted, immediately.

'It's not your question, Zac!' Oscar answered back, just as quickly. 'Any ideas, Theo?'

The first-year shook his head, slowly. 'I know wizards have been around for ages... but so have muggles, and their World Cups didn't start until really recently... 1930?'

'Wrong!' Isaac gloated. 'Totally wrong! It was 1473! Now it's your turn to down it!'

Theo rolled his eyes, before complying with his friend's instructions to another round of loud cheers from the rest of the circle.

'Right,' Oscar picked up his notes again. 'Your go, Mr Davies. What year was the Chipping Clodbury riot?'

'Um...' Isaac hesitated. '1685?'

'You're closer than Theo was,' Oscar snorted, 'but only just.' The fourth-year's grin widened. 'It was 1999!'

'Oh, Merlin...' Isaac shut his eyes. 'I remember now!'

'It's too late _now_ ,' Theo quickly took the opportunity to get his own back. 'Down it!'

'Why can't all History of Magic lessons be like this?' Greg turned to Lucas as they watched their friend emptying his bottle.

Lucas smiled. 'Probably cause of the mess that'll be left later.'


	17. Lessons Learnt

'I trust you had a good evening on Saturday, boys?' Slughorn's eyes twinkled as he peered into Greg and Theo's cauldron during their Potions lesson the following Thursday.

'What?' Greg looked up, surprised. 'Yes, sir...'

'Good, good,' the professor smiled, 'I take it you found my little present?'

The first-year blinked. ' _Your_ present?'

'I think he means the butterbeer,' Lucas interjected. 'Who else would have left it there?'

'Oh...' Greg realised. 'Yes, we did, thank you.'

'Enough to go around?'

Theo snorted. 'Yeah, just about,' he grinned. '48 bottles and nine people...'

Slughorn chuckled. 'There were more people to share it between the last time we managed a win.'

'It's okay,' Isaac joined in the conversation, 'we didn't mind,' he grinned.

'I think we could have done with one of your revitalising potions the next morning, though,' Greg suggested. 'I didn't know butterbeer was that strong...'

'I'll make sure we've got some ready for after the Hufflepuff match, then,' Isaac laughed. 'Sir, you will get us another crate when we beat Hufflepuff, won't you?'

'Beat them first, and I'll think about it.' The teacher glanced over Greg's shoulder. 'You might want to add some knotgrass to that, Mr. Bennett.'

'Yes, sir,' the first-year followed his instruction, watching the potion on his desk bubble from black to green.

'Don't you have anything to say about that, Mr Jones?' Slughorn waddled over to the neighbouring table, where Glyn and Jai stared at their own Forgetfulness Draught.

'Sir...?' The Welsh boy looked up.

'Won't you defend your House's honour?' The professor challenged the two Hufflepuffs.

'They probably will beat us,' Glyn muttered. 'It's not as if we're any good.'

'If we lose to Gryffindor next week, no one will care about the last game anyway,' Jai sighed. 'It'll be like the end of the season, when the teams who can't qualify for the Champions League just play their reserves.'

'Oh dear,' Slughorn shook his head. 'Where's that famous Hufflepuff loyalty? Your mother would never have stood for that.'

'Yeah, well I'm not my mother, am I?' Glyn's eyes flashed as he glared back up at the teacher. 'I _am_ loyal, but I'm not stupid.'

'Now that's more like it...' The professor turned on his heel, leaving Glyn to gaze angrily at the back of the man's robes.

'Bloody hell,' the Hufflepuff swore, 'he's nearly as bad as those Gryffindors,' he shook his head. 'Why do people keep judging us on the House we're in?'

'What, like _those Gryffindors_?' Greg laughed. 'Do you know what a hypocrite is?'

'Oh, piss off, Greg,' the Welsh boy snapped, turning his back to the Slytherins and untidily decanting his potion into a thin vial as the bell rang out for the lesson's end.

'That went well,' Isaac observed sarcastically, watching Jai hurry after his housemate towards the classroom doorway.

Greg gaped blankly after the two Hufflepuffs. 'I've never heard him say that before...'

'Maybe you've been a bad influence on him?' Theo suggested, impishly.

'Piss off yourself,' Greg rolled his eyes.

'See?' Theo nudged his best friend's elbow, remembering the conversation they'd shared with Oscar the week before. 'I bet he's just having a bad day.'

Greg nodded, slowly. 'I hope so,' he mumbled, tidying his own potion-making kit away as Theo measured out their efforts for Slughorn to mark.

The sound of an explosion echoing down the stairway that led from the Potions classroom up towards the Great Hall quickly distracted the boys from their thoughts.

'What the hell was that?' Isaac exclaimed.

Lucas shook his head. 'I don't know...' His uncertainty was drowned out as a sudden cacophony of sound spilled down the stairwell, before a bloodthirsty chant answered the question for him.

'Fight! Fight! Fight!'

The first-years hurried up the staircase as the echoes of spells reverberated along the passageway.

'Tarantallegra!'

'Protego!'

'Impedimenta! Rictusempra!'

'Crap!'

'STUPEFY! STUPEFY!' The Slytherin boys recognised Oscar's voice cutting across the exchange. 'Finite Incantatem!'

The crowd's interest ebbed away as easily as it had arrived, and as the massed students filtered away towards their own dormitories or House tables, the first-years saw Oscar, his wand still out, standing over the motionless bodies of Glyn Jones and Spencer Dawlish.

'Mr Symons,' Professor McGonagall was making her steady way from the Great Hall. 'Please could you follow me to my office?' She turned to the two paralysed first-years. 'Mobilicorpus.'

'Ossie,' Greg hissed, hurrying across to the prefect and quickly relaying the events of their Potions lesson, from Slughorn's remarks about the Welsh boy's mother to Glyn's own four-letter outburst.

'Thanks, mate,' the prefect nodded. 'Wait for me at the table,' he angled his head towards the Great Hall. 'I'll tell you all what happened.' He turned quickly, falling in step behind the Headmistress and leaving the shocked first-years to traipse towards their lunch.

The first sign that Professor McGonagall had finished talking with the three students came when Dawlish trudged, his shoulders sunk, back into the Great Hall to make his lonely way to the Gryffindor table. Shortly afterwards, Oscar and Glyn followed, their voices hushed as they entered the room.

'Come and sit with us, Glyn,' Greg stood up as he watched the Hufflepuff look up, uncertainly, at his own deserted House table.

'Yeah, come on mate,' Theo echoed, loudly enough to persuade the other first-year to make up his mind, and joined his housemates in shifting along the end of their bench to make room for the new arrivals.

'What happened...?' Isaac blundered in, barely allowing Oscar and Glyn's plates the time to fill themselves.

The prefect glanced over to the Welsh boy, who nodded back, almost imperceptibly, his eyes barely leaving his lunch. 'How much did you see?' Oscar asked.

'Just the end,' Greg answered quickly, wanting to make sure that Isaac's lack of tact didn't make things any worse. 'We heard you shout, "STUPEFY", and then saw Glyn and Spencer on the floor.'

'Okay,' Oscar nodded, 'well, I'm sure you guessed that I just split them up,' he began. 'I came across them just as Dawlish cast the first spell.'

'He started on you?' Theo's voice was sharp.

The little colour that remained on Glyn's face drained away and his head dropped further still, sinking onto his forearm as he pushed his untouched meal away.

'Glyn punched him first,' Oscar explained. 'Dawlish said something about the Quidditch match at the weekend, Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, and then about his Mum...' the prefect tailed off, and Greg instinctively reacted, reaching out to rest his arm over the Welsh boy's shoulders.

'McGonagall took twenty points off each of them,' Oscar finished, 'and they've both got detentions tonight and tomorrow with her as well.'

'Merlin...' Isaac shook his head. 'That's three this year, isn't it?'

'Zac!' Under the table, Greg kicked out sharply at his friend's ankle, before shaking his own head insistently as he made eye contact.

'Oh,' the other boy winced, 'sorry.'

'Come on, Zac,' Lucas stood up, 'let's go and sort our stuff out for Charms,' he picked up his own bag. 'Greg, Theo, we'll bring yours if you want?'

'Thanks, mate,' Greg smiled. 'See you there.'

'I'll see you in CMC, Ossie,' Matthew followed the redhead's example.

'He deserved it,' Theo muttered. 'He's deserved it all year.'

Glyn sniffed, slowly lifting his head. 'I should never have done it, though. I don't know why I did.' He blinked, half-clearing the moisture from his eyes.

'McGonagall knew,' Oscar offered, gently. 'You weren't thinking straight, after that Potions lesson...'

'Oh, Merlin,' the Welsh boy's eyes filled with tears once more. 'I'm sorry, Greg,' he whispered, 'sorry for telling you to, for telling you to...'

'Forget it,' Greg patted his friend's shoulder. 'It doesn't matter.'

'Everyone else is going to hate me, though,' the Hufflepuff took a deep, fractured breath. 'For losing all those points...'

'They'll understand,' Greg offered, 'if Dawlish has been half as much a tosser to you as he has been to us.'

'He is,' Glyn nodded. 'He calls us "Dufflepuff", or "Huff-and-puff", and he thinks it's funny,' the Welsh boy shook his head, 'and everyone else in Gryffindor thinks the sun shines out of his arse...'

'Not quite everyone,' Greg corrected his friend. 'I bet you Ciaran Abercrombie doesn't.'

Glyn shrugged. 'They just tell him he'd be better off in the Losers' House with the rest of us.'

'And he just sits there and takes it?' Greg asked.

'Yeah,' the Hufflepuff answered.

'I wonder why he's in Gryffindor?' Theo wondered aloud.

'There you go again,' Greg responded. 'Why does it matter? What difference does it make?' He thumped the table in front of him. 'Remember what the Hat said – it's your choices, and not your abilities, that really matter.'

'Look around you,' Oscar shrugged. 'Is that really true? How many other people think like that?'

'It's getting better,' Greg snapped, before taking a deep breath as he noticed his own temper. 'Remember the start of the year; remember Slughorn. Just look here: there's a Hufflepuff kid sat on our table. _It's getting better_ ,' he insisted, 'and remember what Slughorn said after that first detention – that we had to choose between what was right or what was easy. I don't care how hard it gets, I'm going to keep on doing what's right.'

Oscar stared calmly back at the first-year. 'I do sometimes wonder how come you ended up in Slytherin, though, Greg,' he fought to keep his face straight, 'but then I remember just how bloody stubborn you are, and it all makes sense.'

Greg rolled his eyes, gazing back at the prefect as he heard Theo slip into laughter alongside the older boy.

'It's true, Greg, and you know it!' The other first-year grinned.

'So what?' Greg rolled his eyes. 'It's not like you ever listen to anyone when they say you need your hair cut...'

This time it was Glyn's turn to try – and fail – to stifle his own laughter. 'I remember when we first properly met... in the hospital wing, when you told me that you were going to make Slytherin into what you wanted it to be.'

Greg nodded. 'Am I,' he paused, correcting himself, 'are we doing a good job?'

The Welsh boy nodded. 'If someone had told me on the Hogwarts Express that some of my best friends would end up being Slytherins, there's no way I would've believed them.'

'Thanks, mate,' Greg returned his friend's smile.

'I reckon it's time you got some of this lunch down you now,' Oscar pushed the Hufflepuff's plate gently back across the table. 'It's not long until your next lesson. Have you got your books for it?'

Glyn shook his head.

'It's alright,' the prefect reassured him as he finished his own lunch. 'I'll go and find another Hufflepuff and ask him to bring your things along.'

'Thanks,' Glyn managed, sticking his fork deep into a roast potato as the fourth-year stood up, 'for everything.' He swallowed. 'See you later.'

'Glyndwr Jones?' The three children who had remained at the lunch table were greeted abruptly as they entered their Charms study classroom after the break.

'Y... Yes, Jenny?' The Welsh boy stuttered, gazing up at the seventh-year girl who addressed him. As well as being the most senior of the Hufflepuff prefects, Jennifer O'Callaghan was also the Head Girl.

'Is this true?' She was comfortably taller than any of the first-years, and her neat brown hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin as she glared over her thin spectacles towards Glyn.

'Is w... what true?'

'The story that Mr Davies here just told me, when I asked whether anybody knew why the Hufflepuff hourglass was so low?'

'Oh, crap...' Glyn's whisper was so quiet that only Theo and Greg could hear him.

Jennifer continued, regardless. 'I understand that you lost twenty points because you, and I quote, "punched Spencer Dawlish in the face"?'

'Y... Yes.' Glyn struggled to maintain eye contact with the prefect. 'It's true.'

'Was that worth twenty points?' Her gaze didn't waver, and Glyn shuffled subconsciously backwards, only for Greg and Theo's arms to hold him steady. The silent tension of the classroom was broken, however, as its back door crashed open thanks to another first-year boy.

'Jenny! I just got twenty points from a prefect for going to get Glyn's books from the common room because he was busy and didn't have time to get them himself...' The boy, who was shorter than any of the four Slytherins, panted his announcement breathlessly, before realising that all the other pupils' eyes had turned to face him and starting to blush red beneath his short black hair.

' _Twenty_ points?' Jennifer repeated, distracted from her interrogation. 'Do you know which prefect it was?'

'N... no,' the small boy shook his head, 'I didn't even know prefects could give points.'

'Only to other Houses,' the Head Girl explained, briefly. 'Not to their own House. So it would have to have been a Ravenclaw, or a Gryffindor...'

'Or a Slytherin,' Glyn interrupted.

'Well, technically, yes, but...'

'Cameron,' Glyn projected his voice across the room. 'Was the prefect about this tall,' he motioned with his hand, a few inches above his own head, with short, sort of blondish hair?'

The other first-year nodded.

'Oscar Symons,' Glyn concluded, 'Slytherin seeker.' He turned back to the Head Girl. 'He was the one who split up the fight,' he paused, catching his breath as he noticed the room's attention was now focused on him, 'and yes. It was worth it.' He strode defiantly across the room to fill an empty table, beckoning Cameron to join him as Greg and Theo followed.

A handful of minutes later, Jennifer had finished explaining the incantation for the colour-change charm that they would be practising during that particular study lesson, and the first-years had begun their attempts to turn a satsuma blue.

'You do realise you just pretty much told the Head Girl where to go, and got away with it, don't you?' Greg ventured above the noise of casual conversation.

'I was right, though,' Glyn replied, quietly. 'She was doing exactly what everyone else does, ignoring Slytherin for no reason.'

'It was still awesome,' Theo grinned. 'I bet you'll realise properly later.'

The Welsh boy smiled, reddening a fraction as he did so. 'Thank you. Hey,' he hurriedly changed the subject of their conversation, 'have you met Cameron?'

'Not properly,' Theo answered for the two Slytherins. 'Hi, Cameron,' he introduced himself. 'I'm Theo Forrest, this is Greg Bennett. We're scary Slytherins.'

Cameron fidgeted, looking nervously towards Glyn before nodding slowly. 'C... Cameron Ollerton.'

'Hi, Cameron,' Greg smiled. 'Theo's only scary cause of his crappy haircut. He won't listen to anyone who tells him he needs it cutting.'

'Piss off,' Theo laughed, 'I'll cut it when it starts getting so long I can't see bludgers properly.'

'When you're in the hospital wing, right?' Greg teased. 'I'll tell Madam Pomfrey.'

Cameron glanced back towards Glyn. 'My Mum says I'm not supposed to talk to Slytherins.'

The Welsh boy shrugged. 'I guess it's your choice, Cameron. Talk to Gryffindors who call you names or Slytherins who stick up for you. I know who I'm choosing.'

Cameron nodded again. 'You're in the Quidditch team, aren't you?' He asked, tamely. 'You were good against Ravenclaw.'

'Thanks, Cam,' Theo laughed. 'Did you see my bludger hit against their chaser? The one that broke her broom?'

'Yeah,' Cameron recalled, 'that was great! I bet it wouldn't have broken if it was a Cleansweep, though.'

'Cameron's granddad started the Cleansweep Broom Company,' Glyn explained, noticing the looks of confusion on the Slytherins' faces.

'It was my _great_ granddad,' the smaller boy corrected his housemate.

'Glyndwr,' the children's discussion was interrupted by Jennifer's approach, and the Welsh boy looked up coldly as he heard her speak. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you like that,' she apologised. 'That was wrong.'

'That... that's okay,' Glyn mumbled, taken aback by the Head Girl's change in tone.

'Well done,' she smiled, 'for making friends where so few have done before.' She turned to Greg and Theo. 'And well done to you as well. Five points, each, in the spirit of House co-operation.'

'Cool,' Theo swallowed. 'Thanks.'

'Yeah, thank you.' Greg echoed, as the Head Girl walked away. 'I told you guys, it's getting better.'


	18. Family

**Thanks very much to all readers and reviewers, especially _Este_ and _ChemicalFlashes_ \- we're just past halfway through the story of Greg and friends' first year; fingers crossed it's one chapter a day to wrap it up. We'll then join their second year...  
**

* * *

'Hey, guys,' Lucas called out from a common room armchair as he peered through the thin print of a reference book. 'Have you read this?'

Isaac glanced up from his game of Exploding Snap with Theo. 'Read what?'

'This,' Lucas repeated. 'The Ministry of Magic and the Second Rising: 1995-1998.'

'Oh, yeah,' Isaac chuckled, 'bedtime reading, every night.' He rolled his eyes, turning back to the cards in front of him as one exploded in his face. 'Oh, crap...'

Lucas laughed. 'That teaches you to take the piss, Isaac!' He leaned forwards. 'Look at this page, in particular. Aurors involved with the Ministry during the Imperius years – there,' he pointed a finger into a list of names. 'John Dawlish.'

'So...?' Isaac brushed the soot from his face.

'What do you think, Zac!' Theo exclaimed. 'Look at his name – _Dawlish!_ After all the crap he's given us, and it turns out _he's_ the one with Death Eaters in his family.'

'It doesn't say he was a Death Eater, does it?' Greg looked up from his own homework. 'Or that he's even related to Spencer?'

'Well... no...' Theo was forced to admit that his friend was correct. 'Just think about it, though. What are the chances?'

'That doesn't mean we start acting like he does,' Greg warned. 'That's the last thing we're ever gonna start to do.'

Theo nodded, brushing the fringe of his hair away from his eyes and behind his ears. 'Yeah, I know. You're right.'

'It doesn't stop us asking, though,' Lucas added. 'What have we got to lose by finding out?'

'Hey, look,' Spencer Dawlish saved the Slytherin boys the difficulty of starting conversation the following Monday. 'It's the little snakes! Come to give up on the Quidditch Cup yet?'

'It's not over yet, Dawlish,' Theo's eyes narrowed. 'You've still got to beat Ravenclaw.'

The spiky-haired Gryffindor exaggerated a yawn. ' _You_ beat Ravenclaw. I bet we'll do it in five minutes.'

'We're not giving up until the last snitch gets caught, Dawlish,' Greg backed up his friend. 'You never know.'

Dawlish laughed as the Slytherins tried to hold their stares. 'In your dreams, little snakes. In your dreams,' he sneered.

'How's your History essay going, by the way?' Isaac changed the subject, daring to mention the topic that Lucas had researched the previous week.

'What?' The Gryffindor blinked.

'Your History essay,' Isaac repeated. 'It's just that we found this guy called John Dawlish who worked for the ministry...'

'Shut up!' Dawlish flared, striding across towards Isaac and reaching out to grab hold of the neck of the Slytherin's robes.

'Watch out,' Theo teased, 'you don't want to lose any more points after last week, do you?'

The Gryffindor relaxed his grip, but refused to back down. 'Just shut up,' he threatened, repeating himself. 'It's none of your business.'

'I didn't say anything,' Isaac refused to be dissuaded. 'We just wondered if he was related to you.'

'Looks like he is,' Theo concluded. 'I guess that's a good thing about being a muggleborn,' he took his time over his words. 'No embarrassing family history to worry about.'

'Well,' Dawlish glared at Isaac, 'at least it's not all of your family who think I'm embarrassing.' He blushed furiously, turning his attention to Isaac's sister, Holly, and throwing his arms around her waist. 'Is it, Holls?'

Isaac shut his eyes as the two Gryffindors embraced. 'Oh, bloody hell...' he grimaced.

'Do your research into that,' Dawlish smirked as he pulled away from Holly, following the other Gryffindors into their Herbology lesson and leaving Isaac to fume silently.

'Ignore it, Zac,' Greg consoled his friend.

'Yeah,' Theo agreed, 'he's just trying to piss you off, and get away from the fact that _he's_ the one with Death Eaters in the family.'

'Dawlish wasn't a Death Eater,' Lucas corrected the other Slytherin, 'but I bet he won't be so quick to mention it again any time soon.'

'He better not,' Isaac muttered. 'Merlin,' he shook his head. 'Easter's going to be crap.'

'It could be worse,' Greg offered, as the four boys watched Ciaran Abercrombie traipse forlornly after his housemates. 'You could be him.'

The rafters of the Great Hall trembled with the arrival of a flock of owls on a daily basis, but the first-year Slytherins' upward glances came more through bored habit than any expectation of receiving post.

'Another morning without any letters,' Theo observed as the noise of wingbeats began to die down, replaced instead by agitated squawks that demanded reward for their deliveries.

'I wouldn't be so sure,' Lucas remarked, watching a thin, gray bird aiming for their end of the Slytherin table. 'Does anyone know whose owl that is?'

'That's Nero,' Isaac jolted, recognising the plumage, 'he's my Mum and Dad's...' He reached for the envelope within the owl's talons, and had begun to read through the letter within, when the attention of the whole room was distracted towards the Hufflepuff table.

'CAMERON OLLERTON!' A shrill woman's voice stunned the Great Hall into silence.

'It's a Howler...' Lucas whispered to the two muggle-born Slytherins, as they stared, dumbfounded, across the room.

'I ASKED YOU TO DO ONE THING AT THIS SCHOOL, AND ONE THING ALONE, AND THAT WAS TO STAY AWAY FROM SLYTHERINS,' the voice announced, asking a rhetorical question, 'AND COULD YOU EVEN MANAGE THAT?'

'I DON'T CARE HOW MANY HOUSE POINTS IT WAS WORTH,' the message continued as Cameron sunk ever deeper in his seat. 'NOTHING, I REPEAT NOTHING, IS A GOOD ENOUGH REASON FOR YOU TO ASSOCIATE WITH THAT SCUM. THEY'LL STAB YOU IN THE BACK AS SOON AS LOOK AT YOU. YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES, CAMERON: FIND YOURSELF SOME DIFFERENT FRIENDS, OR FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO STAY FOR EASTER.'

'Bloody hell...' Theo filled the silence on the Slytherin table, watching Glyn try forlornly to comfort the smaller boy as the letter dissolved into its ashes on the table in front of him.

'How do you think his Mum found out?' Greg asked. 'He wouldn't have told her. He said himself that she wouldn't like it during that Charms lesson...'

'Well he won't be the only one trying to find somewhere to spend his Easter,' Isaac looked up morosely from his own letter, before reading out a paragraph to the other first-years. 'As Holly has found somewhere to spend her holidays, your father and I thought we would take the chance to have some time together on our own. You are welcome to stay with a friend, or else at the Castle...'

'Crap,' Theo swore again, 'I wish it _had_ been another morning without any letters.'

'I'll see if you can stay with us if you want,' Greg offered, 'I don't know if we'll have space for someone else, though.'

'Who else is staying?' Lucas glanced up from his half-eaten breakfast.

Greg rolled his eyes. 'You are, you daft git!' He laughed. 'Unless you want to spend some more time with Kevin, instead?'

The redheaded boy blushed and beamed at the same time. 'Thanks, Greg, I...'

'Don't worry about it,' the other boy smiled. 'No one deserves to have to spend their holidays with him,' he paused. 'Maybe Dawlish.'

Lucas returned the other boy's laughter, before breaking off as he noticed movement from the neighbouring table. 'Glyn's coming,' he pointed out, 'and so's Cameron.'

The four first-year Slytherins turned to meet the other boys' approach, as Cameron shuffled along behind Glyn, hiding in the Welsh boy's shadow.

'Sorry, Cam,' Greg offered, weakly.

'It's okay,' the smaller boy muttered, his eyes barely leaving the flagstones of the hall floor. 'It's not your fault.'

'Professor Sprout said she told his Mum; she said she thought she'd be proud that he'd earned twenty points...' Glyn explained.

'I don't think she was,' Isaac observed, wryly.

'Which choice are you going to take, Cameron?' Greg ignored his friend's sarcasm.

'Somewhere else to stay,' Cameron whispered, barely loudly enough for Glyn to hear.

'He's coming to stay with me,' the Welsh boy repeated. 'In fact, you can all come and stay if you want to.'

'Wow.' Uncharacteristically, Lucas was the first to respond. 'Cool,' he smiled. 'Thanks, Glyn.'

'Yeah, thanks,' Isaac echoed his friend. 'I suppose that solves my problem, too.'

The rest of the Easter term passed without any major incident. With Lucas' research effectively putting a stop to Spencer Dawlish's "Death Eater" jibes, the Gryffindors seemed keener to devote their energies into making Ciaran Abercrombie's life miserable. As February became March, school life settled back into a rhythm of lessons, homework and Quidditch practice as the boys counted down the days to a holiday on the Jones family's estate near the Welsh coast.

Castell Fach nestled between two summits as the slopes that would become Snowdonia rose up from the Irish Sea, peering down over the town of Harlech that stood on the shoreline. It was an old stone building, which had – according to Glyn, at least – once been a farmhouse before it passed into the Jones family.

Now, however, the insides bore much more of a resemblance to the 'Little Castle' that its Welsh name translated as: vast, spacious and comfortable rooms that, when Greg stopped to think about it, shouldn't have been that much of a surprise given that its current owner was an International Quidditch player.

For the gathered first-years, however, the best thing about Castell Fach lay hidden away amongst a bowl of pine trees, at the foot of a valley deep in the heart of the estate. Rain or shine, the Jones family's own full-size Quidditch pitch was where the children chose to pass their free time.

'Merlin, Glyn...' Isaac shook his head as eight children landed their brooms, bringing to end a furious game of four-against-four. 'You grew up with _this_ in your back garden, and your Mum playing for Wales, and you never got good at Quidditch?'

'I had no-one to play with,' the Welsh boy muttered, getting off his own broomstick.

'Your brother's not bad,' Greg offered, gesturing needlessly towards a boy who shared Glyn's gentle tan and dark brown hair, but stood a full foot below the first-year.

'Yeah, I know,' Glyn nodded, and the younger boy smiled broadly as he heard his brother's agreement, 'but Iestyn's only just eight; he hasn't been flying long.'

'He'll be great by the time he gets to Hogwarts, then,' Cameron smiled. 'I hope we get him in Hufflepuff.'

'Which House do you want to be in, Iestyn?' Lucas asked the eight-year-old. 'It's three years until you go to Hogwarts, right?'

'I don't know,' the smallest of the boys shrugged. 'Glyn says it doesn't matter, that all the Houses are good, but...' he swallowed, realising the older boys had all turned to face him. 'He also said some of the Gryffindors are real jerks, so I don't want to be like them.'

Theo laughed aloud, once at Iestyn's brutal honesty and then again as Greg threw his arms around the stunned boy.

'That's the best thing I heard anyone say about Houses, _ever_.' He ruffled the eight-year-old's hair, even as Iestyn struggled to ask why.

'We'll tell you when you're older,' Glyn helped his little brother free, 'but even then, I hope you never understand... not like we do.'

'Hey, Iestyn,' Jai stood up as the younger boy opened his mouth to repeat his questioning. 'Let's go and play catch. You bring the quaffle.'

'Alright,' the eight-year-old agreed, excitedly, leaving the four Slytherins alongside Glyn and Cameron.

'One day,' Greg mused, 'one day everyone will see the Houses like your brother does.'

'I hope so,' Cameron agreed, despondently, 'then my Mum might want to look at me again.'

'We'll get there,' Glyn insisted, ' _we_ know that being in Slytherin doesn't mean what it used to.'

Isaac nodded, forlornly. 'I'm waiting to see the one of the other Houses support us during a Quidditch match. Then we'll know that they're just treating us the same as everybody else. That's all we want.'

'It's like the Tornados,' Cameron smiled, wryly. 'Everyone wants them to lose every week in the League... but we still support them in the Champions League.'

'I don't think some people would even support us against Durmstrang,' Lucas observed.

'Like in South Africa...' Theo mumbled, leaving five other boys to turn to him in surprise.

'What?'

'South Africa,' the blond boy repeated, 'and the Rugby World Cup in 1995. After Apartheid.' He paused, noticing the blank looks on the other children's faces. 'Apartheid,' he explained, 'was when the blacks and whites in South Africa were forced to live separately. It had finished by then, but the blacks still wouldn't support the rugby team, because it was basically all white.'

'South Africa hosted the Rugby World Cup that year,' he continued, 'it was the first time they had been allowed to play in it, after Apartheid was over. Their new president managed to convince everyone to support the team, and they won the final.'

'It's the same when the football World Cup's going on,' Greg remarked, 'for a few weeks in summer, when it feels like England have got a chance, everyone's in it together.'

'Yeah,' Glyn nodded, only for Isaac to cut him off before he could say anything else.

'You're Welsh! How would you know? When was the last time you even looked like you _might_ qualify for something?'

'Oh, piss off,' Glyn rolled his eyes, picking up his broomstick and swinging it around to gently knock the side of Isaac's head. 'Come up with something new sometimes...'

'Okay,' Isaac grinned, mischievously. 'Are there any sports that Wales have ever been good at?'

'Yes!' It was Theo's turn to interrupt. 'Rugby! In the 1970s. My coach always said that they were the best team he'd ever seen. They passed and ran and attacked from everywhere...'

Glyn stuck his tongue out as Isaac blinked in disbelief at Theo's revelation.

'That's like the Brazil football team,' Greg added, 'that's how they played, and Holland when they were great as well. "Total Football", they called it. Everyone could do everything.' He paused. 'Who's been the best Quidditch team of all time? I bet they played the same way.'

The four magically-raised boys looked at one another, before answering together as one. 'Ireland.'

Isaac smiled. 'I saw them play England a few years ago. Their chasers passed the quaffle so fast I could hardly see it...'

'Have you seen the photos of that Moran goal in the World Cup?' Lucas put in. 'After 53 passes between the chasers...'

'Yeah,' Glyn chimed in, 'that was the year they won it, in 1994, wasn't it?'

Lucas nodded. 'That goal was in the semi-final, against Peru. They beat Bulgaria in the final, despite Victor Krum catching the snitch.'

'There was a goal Brazil scored just like that, too,' Greg compared the sports. 'Carlos Alberto, I think... but he was a _defender_. Everyone in that team could do everything,' he repeated himself. 'Has that ever happened in Quidditch? Can beaters score?'

'Well...' Lucas managed, before slipping into an uncertain silence. 'I guess there's nothing that says they can't, but...'

'But what?' Theo asked, impatiently. 'My rugby coach always said that it's important that everyone can pass and catch and run and tackle. What's the difference?'

'They just... don't do it,' Cameron broke the quiet. 'I guess it's too difficult to catch the quaffle and hold your bat at the same time.'

'Who says they have to be holding the bat?' Theo insisted. 'Can't you build something on the side of the broom to stick your bat in whilst you catch the quaffle?'

'Or you could use a sticking charm...' Lucas suggested, catching on to his friend's ideas. 'So long as you can get it off again without using your wand...'

'Could you do that?' Greg asked, intrigued. 'Like Velcro shoes?'

'I suppose so...' the redhead offered, tentatively. 'There aren't any rules saying that only chasers can touch the quaffle, are there?'

'No,' Glyn shook his head. 'There's a rule that says only the seeker can touch the snitch, and I know each team is only allowed two bats on the pitch at once.'

'So you could have four chasers and one beater?' Theo flicked the strands of his blond fringe out of his eyes. 'If he was carrying both bats?'

'Well...' Glyn echoed Lucas' earlier uncertainty. 'I guess so, but how would one person carry two bats? They'd have no hands left for the broom!'

'Oh, yeah,' Theo realised. 'He could stick one of his bats to the broom and give it to someone else if they needed it.'

'That's brilliant!' Greg pushed himself up to his knees, his voice filling with excitement. 'So everyone could have his broom ready to carry the bats, and take it in turns being chaser and beater. The other team wouldn't know what hit them!'

'Just as long as we work out a charm that can do that,' Lucas cautioned.

'Yeah, I guess,' Greg had to agree, 'but that doesn't stop you and Theo doing some chaser practice now, does it? Come on,' he grinned, 'back on your brooms!'

'I can't wait to try these moves out when we get back to Hogwarts,' Theo announced as he joined his friends around the long table in the kitchen at Castell Fach that evening, muddy and exhausted but nonetheless still smiling broadly. 'I'm going to be the first beater to score in a Quidditch match at Hogwarts since... oh, I don't know...'

'I bet Dan Buckley will,' Isaac pointed out, much to the other first-years' amusement. 'Then Beretta will punch him...' Another round of laughter followed. 'Hufflepuff aren't going to stand a chance!'

'Did I hear that right?' The boys' fun was interrupted as Glyn's mother overheard Isaac's bold statement. ' _Hufflepuff_ won't stand a chance? I thought you were a badger, Glyndwr?'

'I am,' the Welsh boy responded curtly.

'Then... these other boys aren't?' Gwenog Jones was not a tall woman, but her choice of career left her in excellent shape, and her dark brown hair – no longer than Theo's, but pulled into a pony tail – flicked around as she surveyed the table.

'There's no rules that say my friends have to be in the same House as me,' Glyn muttered, without lifting his eyes to face his mother's.

'Their next match is against Hufflepuff,' Gwenog paraphrased Isaac's assertion. 'So, unless the calendar has changed, that means...' Her eyes widened. 'Glyndwr!'

'What?' The eleven-year-old snapped his head around, glaring at his mother for the first time as it became clear where their conversation was headed.

'I think we need a word, in private.' She turned to the other children, a false smile hovering below her glassy eyes. 'Excuse us.' Gwenog led Glyn out of the kitchen, shutting the door neatly behind her.

'No prizes for guessing what that's all about,' Lucas remarked caustically.

Greg shook his head. 'Can we listen in?' He followed Theo towards the doorway, where the blond boy had brushed enough of his fringe out of the way to press his ear against the wood.

'All I can hear is buzzing,' he observed, lifting his head away and allowing the long strands of his blond hair to fall back into place.

'Muffliato,' Cameron concluded. 'It's a charm,' he explained. 'My Dad and my Uncles use it when they don't want anyone listening in on their meetings.'

Isaac let his head slump against the top of the kitchen table, before thumping its wooden surface in anger. 'It's the same thing all over again, isn't it? he snarled. Don't talk to the Slytherins...'

'Zac...' Greg cautioned, edging back to the long, wooden table to sit alongside his friend. 'Careful...'

'Or what?' The freckles across the bridge of Isaac's nose stood out over his pale skin as he lifted his head up. 'Glyn's never even told his Mum we were Slytherins, and you can see why. He never dared... he's embarrassed about us.'

'Zac,' Greg warned again, 'it might not be like that,' he offered.

'Well, what else is it going to be?' Isaac shook his head. 'You know it, I know it, everyone in here knows it...'

'So what else would you have done if you were him?' Jai challenged the Slytherin.

Isaac swallowed as the eyes of the other boys all turned towards him, only for the rattle of the kitchen doorway to burst open and break the artificial silence of the Muffliato charm.

'I don't care what you think!' Glyn bellowed. 'They were the only people who wanted to be friends with me because of who I was, and not just because my mum was famous!'

'Did you never think there might have been another reason?' Gwenog shoved the doorway open again moments later. 'That they might just have been telling you that?'

'NO!' Glyn kicked out violently, knocking a vacant chair noisily to the ground, as the other boys timidly backed away from the confrontation. 'Why should it? Why would they bother?'

'Because, dear,' his mother's voice filled with a condescending scorn, 'that's just what Slytherins do.'

'No – it – bloody – well – isn't!' Glyn screamed, his eyes burning with anger and brimming with tears as he spat an even stronger swear word. 'You don't know anything about it!'

'GLYNDWR JONES,' Gwenog returned the boy's yell. 'How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you use that kind of language? I suppose you learnt it from your Slytherin friends...'

'No,' Glyn steeled himself, starting to shake as he resolved to hold his mother's gaze. 'I knew it before I started Hogwarts. I heard what you said about the referee after that Wales game against Austria last year.'

A heavy silence sunk over the kitchen, and Greg edged forwards to rest a gentle arm around his friend's shoulders. 'Thank you, Glyn,' he whispered, as the Welsh boy snapped away from his mother's line of sight, burying his head against the sleeve of Greg's rugby shirt. 'What do I have to do,' the Slytherin boy spoke coldly, staring back at his friend's mother, 'to make you trust me?'

Another cloak of quiet enveloped the room, before Iestyn's innocent voice shrilled through. 'I know, Mum,' he suggested, 'you tell us that if we lie to you then you'll make us drink that truth potion. Greg could drink some, then you'll know he's telling the truth.'

'Fine,' Greg shrugged, 'I'll do it; maybe then you'll have to believe me.' He blinked. 'I've got nothing to hide.'


	19. Veritaserum

Gwenog Jones' stare bore down on Greg as the two faced off across the kitchen at Castell Fach. 'You know what you're taking, boy?'

'If it's a truth potion, I don't care what it's called,' Greg refused to be cowed. 'I'm not afraid,' he repeated himself, 'I've got nothing to hide.'

Glyn's mother raised her eyebrows, before turning on her heel and sweeping out of the kitchen, leaving their boys on their own once more.

'Greg...' the older Welsh boy looked up, sniffing as he rubbed the back of his forearm across his eyes. 'You don't have to do this; you know I believe you.'

'I know,' the blond boy smiled, gently patting his friend's shoulder. 'You wouldn't have stood up to your Mum... particularly not like _that_... if you didn't.'

Glyn blushed, wiping his eyes once again before untidily heaving a chair outwards and sitting down beside Isaac. 'You do know you'll have to tell the truth about everything, right?'

'So what?' Greg shrugged. 'What am I going to tell her? That we drank too much butterbeer after the Ravenclaw game?'

Glyn managed a stifled laugh. 'I guess,' he offered, 'it's just... you _shouldn't_ have to do this.'

'Yeah, maybe,' the Slytherin smiled, sadly, 'but it looks like I do,' he reflected as the noise of the kitchen door signalled Gwenog's return.

'Three drops,' she smiled haughtily, 'that should do it.' The woman counted out the potion onto a silver teaspoon before emptying it down Greg's throat. 'Right, then,' she smirked, 'let's see what you've got to say for yourself. What's your full name?'

'Gregory Joseph Bennett.'

'Where do you live?' The questioning quickly gathered pace as Gwenog snapped at the eleven-year-old, and Greg answered drearily back.

'Chudleigh.'

'Who are your parents?'

'Joseph and Elaine Bennett.'

'Were they in Slytherin?'

'No.'

'Which House were they in?'

'They didn't go to Hogwarts.'

'Why not?'

'They're muggles.'

A couple of the watching boys turned their giggles into sudden coughs as they watched Gwenog's startled reaction to Greg's answer.

'So you're muggle-born?' she stuttered.

'Obviously,' Greg droned.

'And you're in Slytherin?'

'Yes.'

'That's why he's had to take this, Mum!' Glyn yelled out, pushing himself up from the kitchen table. 'I could have told you he was a muggle-born! He'd never even heard of Quidditch at the start of the year.'

'I didn't ask for your opinion,' Gwenog glared at her older son, who swallowed under her gaze, edging back to the other gathered children. 'Well,' she gathered her composure. 'Why are you in Slytherin?'

'I asked the Sorting Hat to put me there.'

'What?' Gwenog spluttered. 'What did you do that for?'

'It said part of me belonged there, and anyway, I already knew two of the boys in the fourth year.'

'Who are they?'

'Matthew Sawyer and Oscar Symons,' Greg pre-empted the woman's next question. 'They're muggle-born too.'

Gwenog sighed, changing the tack of her interrogation. 'Who is your best friend?'

'Theo Forrest.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Is Glyndwr Jones one of your friends?'

'Yes.'

'How good a friend of yours is he?'

'One of my best.' Glyn couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he heard Greg's answer, even though he had never doubted its truth.

'Have you ever argued?'

'Yes.'

'Of course we've argued, Mum!' Glyn's patience was growing thin and his composure began to break. 'What did you expect?'

'Are you planning to betray him?' Gwenog talked over her son's interruption.

'No.'

'Have you learned any Dark Magic?'

'No.'

'Mum!' Glyn yelled again, starting forwards only for Theo to grab hold of one of his arms, and Jai the other, as they held him back. 'Why don't you just ask him if he's got a Dark Mark yet?'

'I'm only thinking of your safety, Glyndwr,' she simpered, before turning back to Greg. 'Why did you choose my son as a friend?'

'Because he trusted me.'

'Don't you want to use him for something?'

'No.'

'If you had the choice between saving his life and winning the House Cup, what would you choose?'

'Saving his life.'

'Mum!' Glyn snapped for a third time, breaking free of his friends' grasp and storming across the kitchen. 'How can you ask him that? What do you think he is? What do you expect him to say?' The eleven-year-old's eyes began to water, and he sniffed fiercely, steadying himself with a deep breath. 'I've got a question,' he turned to Greg. 'How does it make you feel to be treated like this?'

'It makes me feel like I'm second-class,' Greg answered with brutal honesty. 'It makes me wonder why I bother trying to be different, because people don't want to see me, they just want to see Slytherin, and pretend I'm like Voldemort.''

Glyn ignored his mother's shudder as his friend answered. 'What do you think of people who don't trust you, just because of the House you're in?'

'I don't think it's any different to any other kind of prejudice.'

'So you think it's the same as being racist?'

'Yes.'

Glyn turned back to face his mother, as a threatening silence began to suffocate the kitchen once more.

'Glyndwr Jones...' Gwenog stuttered... 'Are you suggesting...'

'Yes.' This time it was the Welsh boy's turn to answer with a single word, and the silence shattered as his mother's calm edifice crumbled.

'GLYNDWR JONES!' She repeated, suddenly in hot pursuit of her older son as the eleven-year-old bolted for the doorway, whilst Greg took his own chance to dash for the back door, leaving the other six boys shell-shocked and alone in the kitchen.

'I think we should go,' Lucas offered, calmly. 'If we stay, we'll only make things worse.'

Harlech Castle stood on top of a high promontory, looking out over the rocky shore below, its four corner towers linked by great stone walls and abridged only by an imposing gatehouse. The shell of its interior lay empty, ruined but for the remains of stairwells and skeletons of fireplaces, but as Greg sat, squatting back against the remains of the highest tower, it was the closest place he could approximate to the grandeur of Hogwarts.

Why had he even thought that he could change things? He shook his head sadly, remembering a line that Neal Kennedy had quoted during History of Magic about the "foolish idealism of youth". It was so much easier, the seventh-year had argued, to claim that you would change the world, than to actually do so.

'The world's not as simple as you thought it was, right?' Another memory, this time of his near-neighbour's wisdom on the evening of the Gryffindor match, crossed the eleven-year-old's mind. He sighed as he recalled Matthew's words, half-turning around as he heard the excited shouts of children from the courtyard below.

'You don't know how lucky you are,' he whispered to himself, watching a pair of boys, neither any older than nine, chase recklessly around the castle ruin. 'I didn't either.' Turning out the pockets of his canvas shorts, he began to count through the sum total of his belongings. 'Not enough to get a train home with, that's for sure,' he mused as the sound of a departing diesel locomotive echoed out from the station that interrupted the railway line along the coast below. 'Not even enough to get out of Wales...'

Greg shivered as a gust of breeze blew onshore, eddying around the ruined turrets and battlements, and the boy found himself wishing fervently that he had brought a jumper with him when he left Castell Fach. As his thoughts drifted back to his friend's house, he began to wonder what might have played out in his absence, and where Glyn and Gwenog's argument might have led. As it turned out, however, he didn't need to wait for long to find out, as the insistent screech of a small brown owl cut his daydream short.

'Okay, okay, alright...' Greg muttered, detaching a thin package from the bird's talons, and watching as a slip of parchment, wound around an old biro, and a scattering of bacon rashers tumbled to the floor. Ignoring the owl's lunge for the scattered food, Greg carefully peeled the note away from the barrel of the pen and began to read.

 _Greg,_

 _Please don't run away. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You're not like Voldemort, and you never will be. My Dad says we'll come and get you, wherever you are. Just write where you are on the back of this letter and give it back to Branwen, our owl. I put a biro pen in so you could do it. Please come back and stay with us. My Dad doesn't care that you're in Slytherin. You're one of the best friends I ever had._

 _Glyn_

Greg held the parchment in his hands, gazing at the blotches of moisture that peppered its disjointed sentences, before reaching out for the biro on the floor by his feet. 'So are you,' he spoke to himself, scrawling "in the castle" onto the back of the paper, and reattaching the message to Branwen's talons. 'See you soon.'

Greg lapsed back into his thoughts, imagining what might have come to pass at his friend's house, and just what role Glyn's father – an arithmancer, he recalled – would have played in this apparent resolution. He shook his head, remembering the Welsh boy's fury as he argued with his mother, and couldn't help being drawn to the stereotype of Hufflepuff House, fiercely loyal at any cost. An army of conflicting ideas swept through his mind, and he struggled to consider each one of them in turn. Was this what the Sorting Hat had seen in Glyn? If it was, did it mean that the different Houses really _did_ matter, after all? Or was it just a gesture of friendship, where the Houses never even came into it?

'Greg? Greg!' It took two shouts to disturb the blond boy's concentration.

'Wait... what?' The Slytherin shook himself, looking up for the owner of the voice. 'Glyn? How did you get here so quick...?'

'Dad Apparated.' The Welsh boy grinned. 'There's another wizard who lives in the High Street; we usually go through his house when we need to get to Harlech – and don't want muggles to see us appearing out of nowhere!'

Greg nodded slowly, getting steadily to his feet as he let the information sink in. He looked from Glyn's face to that of his friend's father, standing alongside the boy. Aneurin Jones stood tall and lean, his thin black hair and well-defined cheeks echoing his son's face. 'What happened...?' Greg stuttered.

'Gwenog has a Quidditch player's temper,' Aneurin explained. 'She's not one for thinking first and acting later, no matter how often she'll tell you to do the same.' He smiled, kindly. 'I think that's why she married me, boys. Her opposite, you know?'

'You know I'm a Slytherin, right?' Greg asked, uncertainly.

'I don't think I could have missed that,' Aneurin squatted down in front of the blond boy, 'with my wife and son screaming the place down about it when I came home.'

'So you don't mind?' Greg swallowed.

'No,' Glyn's father rested the palm of his right hand on the boy's shoulder. 'If Glyndwr says he trusts you, then that's good enough for me.' He reached around the back of the first-year's neck, gently drawing him closer as Greg let his mask of composure fall away into a slow stream of tears.

'I'm sorry...' he mumbled, moments later, brushing the back of his wrist over his face.

'Don't be,' Glyn insisted, repeating the words of his letter. 'You've got nothing to be sorry for.'

'Thank you,' Greg turned his head to face the other boy, blinking through a film of tears. 'You know what you said in your letter? You're one of the best friends I ever had, too.'

The kitchen at Castell Fach was quiet once more as Aneurin, with Greg and Glyn at his side, Apparated back into the Jones family home. The hush lasted no longer than a couple of seconds, however, as Greg staggered sideways, grabbing at the wooden back of a chair before vomiting unceremoniously onto the linoleum floor.

'Oh... sorry...' he offered weakly, blushing as he spoke.

'No bother, boy,' Aneurin patted his shoulder firmly. 'Apparating for the first time has a habit of making people a little queasy.' He lifted his own wand from his belt, pointing it at the mess. 'Scourgify!'

'Thank you,' Greg nodded.

'No bother,' Aneurin repeated, smiling. 'Now,' the man's expression grew stern, 'about this little... disagreement.' He took a deep breath. 'I won't stand for it. I believe that everyone has the chance to choose their own path through life, and this is what the rest of the world should judge them on: not their names, their faces, their nations, their Houses. Otherwise we build ourselves a world of suspicion and fear, and that is not a world I wish to live in. I do not wish to speak of this again. Now then,' his tone instantly brightened, 'what's for dinner?'

'Greg?' The eleven-year-old stirred as he heard a quiet knock on the door of the small room that he was sharing with Theo. 'Greg?' The voice repeated itself.

'Who's there?' Greg blinked. 'Glyn, is that you?'

'Yes,' the voice came back. 'Can I come in?'

'Yeah, of course.' The Slytherin pushed himself up, sitting against the makeshift headboard of his camp bed, as the Welsh boy guided the door open and eased the dimmer switch in the room to a low light. 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah,' Glyn nodded. 'It's just... I was lying in bed, thinking about today... I just wanted to talk about it.' He tried to smile, edging towards the end of Greg's bunk. 'I've never heard Dad like that before.'

Greg looked across to Theo as his best friend shook the long fringe out of his eyes. 'It must have been weird,' he offered, his words shy of any confidence.

'This whole year's been weird,' Glyn admitted, staring down at the floor. 'I remember what I used to think Hogwarts was going to be like. I never imagined anything like what's really happened.'

'Imagine what it's like for us, then,' Theo interjected. 'How different do you think this is from what _we_ thought our first year of senior school would be like? If someone had told me a year ago that all this was going to happen then I'd have said they should've been locked up.'

Glyn winced. 'I know,' he stammered. 'I know, it's not the same, but...'

'It's okay, Glyn, I get it.' Greg counselled. ' _Slytherin_ , right?'

The Hufflepuff nodded, and Greg watched, stunned, as his friend struggled to blink moisture out of his eyes.

'Glyn...?'

'That's just it,' the Welsh boy's breath rasped. 'I was just lying there thinking, and I thought, I thought... a bit of me wished none of this ever happened, wished things were just like they were _meant_ to be...' Glyn gave up his attempts to stem his tears and turned away, hiding his face as he sobbed into his hands.

'So...?' Theo broke the silence after the two Slytherins had stared at one another. 'What's wrong with that?'

'Didn't you hear it?' Glyn pleaded. 'Part of me wished I'd never met you! You're some of my best friends, and I wished _that_. I'm a Hufflepuff; I'm supposed to be loyal, and I can't even manage that...'

Greg swung his legs over the side of his bed. 'Glyn,' he reasoned, shifting to sit alongside his friend. 'You used the f-word at your mum today when you were sticking up for me. How much more loyal do you want to get?'

''But...' the Welsh boy complained, 'you heard what I said, that I wished it never happened...'

'I think about that sometimes,' Greg admitted. 'I wonder what things would be like if none of this had ever happened, if I'd never had my letter and just gone to the Grammar School.'

'Me too,' added Theo, 'I bet everyone does. My rugby coach used to say that it didn't matter what might have happened, though, it was what _did_ happen that counted.'

'It's like that first night,' Greg remembered, 'when were worried about what would happen because we'd ended up in Slytherin – but there's no point in worrying about things that aren't real when there's enough that is real to bother us.' He took a deep breath, reaching out to rest a reassuring arm over the Hufflepuff's shoulders. 'Just as long as we stick together.'

'Yeah,' Theo echoed, stridently. 'Never give up.'

Glyn blinked, clearing the film of tears from in front of his eyes for long enough that half a smile broke through, and he wiped the back of his right arm over his face. 'I guess it's just been a bad day.'

'I don't know,' Greg shrugged. 'I don't think it's been that bad a day,' he suggested. 'I know that there's still some people in the world who won't just judge us because we're Slytherins,' he paused, looking slowly towards the Welsh boy, 'and that I've got some friends who will stick up for me, no matter what.'

'I guess...' Glyn muttered. 'I never really thought of it like that,' he admitted, 'but you're right,' his voice grew clearer. 'Maybe it wasn't that bad.' He swallowed. 'Thank you.'

'That's alright,' Greg nodded.

'I never really imagined what my friends would be like, either,' the Hufflepuff added, 'but I'm glad they turned out to be like you.' He smiled, before jolting as he remembered a half-forgotten memory. 'I'm not meant to tell you this, not till tomorrow anyway because it might not work out, but... well, you know it's my birthday next week?' He paused, suddenly breathless. 'Mum says we can all go and watch the Harpies' game against Falmouth at the weekend as a treat.'


	20. Total Quidditch

The Holyhead Harpies' home stadium stood on the north-eastern corner of the Isle of Anglesey, less than half a mile from the cliffs that dropped away into the Irish Sea. The pitch was hemmed in along one side by the steep scarp slope of Mynydd Eilian, the hilltop that lent the ground its name, and encircled on the other by high stacks of terraced seating.

Glyn's mother had ensured that the eight boys had some of the best tickets in the stadium, straddling the halfway line and towering above the pitch, as well as providing padded seats and more than enough legroom. They watched, enraptured, as the two teams ran through their warm-up routines at a speed the boys could only dream of emulating, whilst a man and woman with two infant children took their own seats at the other end of the box.

The boys' attention, however, was not to be distracted from the green and gold banks of fans at either end of the ground, or the intricate action that unfolded before their eyes.

'Your Mum's good...' Theo managed, open-mouthed, as he watched Gwenog strike a bludger into the middle of one of the Falmouth chasers' brooms, splintering the wood and sending it teetering into a spiralling descent.

'Yeah,' Glyn muttered.

'Beater's temper?' Greg suggested, drawing a thin smile from the Welsh boy before ducking to avoid Theo's swinging arm. 'See what I mean?' He laughed. 'You're all psychos!'

'Maybe,' Theo shrugged, 'but you'd be lost without us.'

'Yeah, cause you'd score so many goals without _us_ , wouldn't you?' Isaac stuck his tongue out.

'And none of you would get anywhere without brooms to fly on!' Cameron interrupted.

Lucas rolled his eyes. 'How about you just watch the game?' He suggested. 'You just missed Williams make an amazing save.'

'She'll make another,' Isaac argued, 'she's not in the Wales team for nothing.'

'So watch her and see why she's so good then!' Lucas shook his head. 'How often do you get to see Quidditch from this position?'

'He's right, Zac,' Greg reasoned. 'Let's see if there are any moves we could try and use next term.'

'Fine,' the other chaser agreed, settling to peer out over the Mynydd Eilian stadium as twelve players battled over the bludgers and quaffle, whilst two hovered watchfully, alert for the presence of the snitch. Neither seeker enjoyed any success in the first period, however, and the hour ended with Holyhead holding a narrow lead over their Cornish opponents, 90-70.

'We take a well-earned break from the action,' the crisp voice of the Harpies' announcer carried across the pitch, 'ten minutes down-time before the second period gets underway. In the meantime, however, we have a couple of special guests here today in the Gwendolyn Morgan boxes. Please give a massive Mynydd Eilian welcome to former Harpy Ginny Potter, her rather well-known husband Harry, and their two little boys – James and Albus!'

The two adults sharing the first-years' box got to their feet, balancing their infant children on one arm as they acknowledged the crowd's applause with the other.

'Is that _really_...' Isaac asked, dumbfounded, as his friends gazed, open-mouthed, down the rows of sheltered seats, ' _the_ Harry Potter?'

Lucas nodded slowly. 'Who else is it going to be?'

'Is he the guy who, you know...' Theo clumsily managed, 'the guy in the War, who...'

'Killed Voldemort.' Lucas filled in the answer to his friend's unfinished question. 'At the Battle of Hogwarts.'

'Wow,' Greg could manage nothing more than a single surprised exclamation as he gaped at their celebrated neighbours whilst the stadium's cheers died down.

'Glyndwr Jones, isn't it?' The boys' trance was interrupted as the woman, red-haired and smiling, noticed their gaze. 'Gwenog's boy?' Gently cradling the smaller of her two children, she picked her way down the aisle of seating.

'Yes,' the Welsh boy blushed, nodding hurriedly.

'It's a long time since I've seen you,' she sat down a couple of seats away from him, angling her body so that her son could lie sideways in the space in between. 'How old are you now?'

'Twelve,' Glyn answered quietly. 'I was twelve on Thursday.'

Ginny beamed. 'Well a happy birthday from me and Harry,' she inclined her head a fraction as her husband settled into a seat in the row behind. 'You must be at Hogwarts now?'

Greg felt his throat tighten as he watched the boy alongside him nodding his head, realising what the next questions would surely ask even before he overheard his friend's answer.

'I'm in Hufflepuff.'

The two Potters nodded, before Harry spoke next. 'I knew some fine wizards from Hufflepuff. I take it your friends are, too?'

By now, the other children had forgotten about the second period of the Quidditch match and, even as the players returned to the pitch below, their attention focused instead on Glyn's nervous answers.

'Some of them are,' he managed, 'not all of them.'

Harry smiled. 'Good to see you're making friends with the other Houses,' he acknowledged, wistfully. 'It took us four years before we really managed that.' His gaze travelled from Glyn's eyes, along the armrest of the boy's seat, and up to his neighbour. 'Are you alright, young man?'

Greg coughed. 'Y... yes,' he stammered. 'I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Because you're squeezing that armrest like nothing on earth.'

The eleven-year-old snatched his left hand away from the offending chair, guiltily cradling it behind his right. 'No, I'm not,' he lied.

'What's wrong?' Glyn turned to his friend.

'You know,' the other boy whispered, pulling Glyn close. 'You know exactly what's wrong. If he found out...'

Glyn shook his head. 'He wouldn't.'

'How do you know?'

'I'll prove it.' Before Greg could stop him, the Welsh boy had turned around to face Harry once again. 'He's worried about what you'd say if you knew he was in Slytherin.'

'Glyn!' Greg stood up as moisture began to burn the backs of his eyes. 'How could you tell him!' He swivelled, facing directly at Harry. 'I'm not like Voldemort! I'm not a Death Eater! I'm a muggle-born, and so are some of my friends. I'm not, I'm not...' His vision blurred as the figures in front of him swam into mists of tears, and he slumped back into his chair, hiding his head behind his forearms. He didn't notice Glyn and Harry quietly swapping seats, nor the man's arm gently slide over his shoulders.

'Greg Bennett,' Harry whispered softly, a handful of moments later. 'Do you know who the Headmaster of Hogwarts was before Professor McGonagall?'

The eleven-year-old didn't respond.

'It was Dumbledore, wasn't it?' Isaac offered into the silence.

Harry shook his head. 'There was somebody in between,' he explained.

'Snape,' Lucas murmured.

'Correct.' Harry glanced at the redhead. 'Severus Snape. Slytherin. Do you see my young man, here?' He gestured towards the smaller of the two infant children, sucking happily on its own fingers. 'Meet Albus _Severus_ Potter.'

Greg lifted his head fractionally: enough to peer over the tops of his forearms and pick out the oblivious baby, who gurgled merrily before beginning to crawl over his father's knees towards the eleven-year-old.

'I think he likes you,' Harry grinned as his son reached out towards the fringe of Greg's blond hair, successfully persuading the boy to peel his forearms away from his face. 'I never had any Slytherin friends at school,' he continued, 'but I have a godson now – he's eight next week – and his grandmother was Slytherin. I wouldn't want anybody else raising him.'

'So,' Greg swallowed, 'you're not, you're not...'

'Don't finish that sentence,' Harry pulled the boy closer. 'I'm not. If Teddy ends up in Slytherin when he starts at Hogwarts, then I know there'll be someone there who'll look after him.'

Greg looked up. 'You wouldn't mind...?'

'Greg,' Harry confided, 'the Sorting Hat nearly put me in Slytherin. If I hadn't have asked it not to, I think it would have done.'

'It told me that it was our choices, not our abilities, that really mattered.'

'Did it really?'

'Yes,' Greg nodded. 'That was what one of the Headmasters once said.'

'Dumbledore,' Harry smiled. 'I remember, because he said it to me, when I was feeling the same way that you are right now.'

Greg wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. 'Sorry,' he sniffed. 'I didn't know. Sorry for going off on one like that...'

'Don't worry about it, kid. I've done the same,' he glanced down towards Ginny, 'too many times.' Harry ruffled the boy's hair, before searching to change the subject. 'I take it you're a Harpies fan?'

'Do you think you've got a chance tomorrow?' Isaac cheekily called after the Hufflepuff first-years as the Slytherin boys followed their friends out of the Potions classroom. 'Anyone we need to worry about?'

'There's always a snitch, Zac,' Jai pointed out. 'If Langford gets it, then we're going to win. It doesn't matter how much we practised, you're not going to get 150 points clear.'

'Ossie will get it before he does,' the brown-haired boy shrugged. 'You've got less chance than the Cannons have against Puddlemere.'

'Or Puddlemere had against the Harpies last week,' Glyn delighted in butting in. 'What was the score again? 200-0?'

'Only 190,' Isaac corrected as the other boys snorted with laughter. 'And anyway, we're still above you, and you only won because all our best players are injured...'

'Oh, tell someone who cares, Zac!' Theo grinned. 'The Harpies haven't lost in ages.'

'Five wins in a row since we beat Falmouth,' Glyn added. 'Another one and we catch you up.'

'Yeah, well,' Isaac huffed, 'but that's like saying Hufflepuff could catch us up if they win tomorrow. It _could_ happen, but it's not going to!'

'Now you sound like Dawlish,' Jai rolled his eyes. 'Like you think everything's going to go your own way just because you say so.'

'No,' Greg answered back. 'Things are going to go our way because we've practised, and we're going to practise again tonight. We can still win this Quidditch Cup, and whilst we've still got a chance then we're going to give it absolutely _everything_.' As the first-year waved goodbye to his friends to turn towards the Slytherin dormitory, he realised that he genuinely believed everything that he had just said. Now, he knew, it wasn't like that quarter-final with Chudleigh Primary School any more.

'That was the end of the second period, ladies and gentlemen, and we have a Hogwarts Quidditch first for you today,' Dan Beretta's voice echoed smugly around the school pitch. 'Daniel Buckley does _not_ know the last time a beater scored a goal in the Quidditch Cup.'

'That's not _necessarily_ true,' Buckley argued back. 'This might be a Hogwarts first for a very different reason,' he contended. 'It might be the first time a beater has ever been on the scoresheet.'

'And the second,' Beretta corrected his friend. 'I'm not sure where Slytherin got these ideas from, but I know they've been practising long into the evenings, and quite frankly Hufflepuff haven't got a clue what to do about it. It's 160 points to 70, and I can see why: five against three just isn't fair!'

'Who's to say it couldn't be more?' Buckley asked. 'Could we see the seeker join in to these attacks as well? How will the other teams counter it? I'm sure they'll have to concentrate better on the bludgers, but if Slytherin have five pairs of eyes going forwards, there'll be ample time for them to dodge as they have today... Is this the start of a New Quidditch? Are we watching a change in the way our game's going to be played across the world?' His sentences began to run into one another.

'Or are we listening to a statto losing his mind?' Beretta sniped. 'I'm not sure Appleby are going to be changing their gameplan for this afternoon based on a couple of first-years scoring against the worst Hufflepuff team I can remember. Don't forget, they haven't won yet, either. If Langford can find the snitch, as unlikely as the form book suggests that might be, Hufflepuff are still in this game.'

Buckley chose not to rise to his partner's goading. 'How do you think they're keeping hold of the beater's bats like that? It must be quite a simple charm – given that they're first years...'

'First years who have parents, Buckley,' the other voice corrected his friend. 'If they've been planning this over half-term, who knows what's been going on. In fact,' the commentator paused, gathering himself to launch a volley of speculation, and oblivious to the fact that the third period had begun, 'I've got a theory. We all know that Cameron Ollerton is friends with these Slytherin boys, don't we? And it doesn't take a genius to guess what Cameron's Dad does for a living with that surname, does it? Five galleons says we'll be seeing these brooms hit the market just in time for the new season.'

'Today only, free economic analysis with every Quidditch commentary,' Buckley responded, caustically. 'Only available whilst your commentator isn't watching Isaac Davies score his fifth goal of the game.'

'Everyone saw that happen,' Beretta was undeterred. 'We're not here to tell everyone about every last detail that's happening in front of their own eyes.'

'No,' the other sixth-year conceded, 'but I think goals are pretty important – because Jamie Tyler is single-handedly keeping Hufflepuff in this game! It's 170 to 80.'

'How far have Slytherin come since the first game of the season?' Beretta asked, rhetorically. 'No goals in two hours whilst most of the crowd decided to watch the grass grow instead – and now this.'

'They needed to know they could compete, Dan,' the other voice responded. 'Had they come out against Gryffindor and tried to play like this in November, they would have been taken apart. Now they're twenty points away from the top of the table.'

'That could soon be ten, Dan,' Beretta cut back in, 'Davies has the quaffle in the Hufflepuff half. He lets it drop to Forrest, who's totally unmarked – Forrest flies straight at Aysgarth, who just gets out of the road... he's in the scoring area... so's Bennett. Isn't this stooging?'

Buckley shook his head as he spoke next. 'No, Dan. Stooging is more than one _chaser_ in the scoring area. Forrest can pass to Bennett, no problem. Is this the shot? No it isn't, because there's someone else up in the scoring area too! Bennett's picked out Brand, the other beater, who can't miss. It's 180-80, and now _both_ Slytherin beaters are on the scoresheet... I'm sure that's never happened before.'

'You'll have to update all those stats sheets for next season if they keep playing like this, mate,' the other commentator chided. 'Most goals in a season by a beater; most takedowns by a chaser...'

'How about you just do your job and watch the snitch? It's Symons and Langford in the dive, Symons is ahead; Symons cuts across his opposite number...'

'SYMONS TAKES THE SNITCH!' Beretta yelled over his colleague's commentary. 'SLYTHERIN WIN!'

'It's a final score of 330 to 80,' Buckley remarked, unperturbed by the other boy's screams. 'That's the biggest score of the season by any side – and by some distance, too – and Slytherin are now on top of the Quidditch Cup standings as well. Obviously, Gryffindor just need the win next week to seal the title, but if they miss out... well, Slytherin or even Ravenclaw could still steal it.'

'All to play for in next week's game, then. Join us next week for the finale of the 2006 Quidditch Cup. I'm Dan Beretta...'

'... and I'm Dan Buckley.'

'Do you think we've got a chance?' Lucas asked his friends as the Slytherin and Hufflepuff boys gathered together in the stands one week later. 'Ravenclaw win, but score less than 310, and Gryffindor score less than 150?'

'Of course we've got a chance,' Isaac recalled Jai's response to his own similar question seven days before. 'There's always the snitch. We've got to pray that Neal gets the snitch before Jason Newitt does.'

'It could happen,' Greg insisted, as he had done every time the boys' conversations had turned to the fate of the Quidditch Cup. 'You'd never have believed we'd be sitting here, top of the table, would you? Stranger things have happened...'

'Yeah,' Glyn added, grinning. 'Even Puddlemere won a match last weekend!'

'Oh, piss off!' Issac reached across, shoving the Welsh boy on the arm. 'We're _still_ above you in the table!'

'Oh, just watch the game,' Greg advised. 'Gryffindor have already nearly scored...'

It wasn't long, however, before Gryffindor did score –and several times over, for good measure.

'Slytherin might have been able to use five chasers, but right now it feels like there's even more out there in red and orange robes,' Dan Beretta enthused. 'Trebarah, Fellows, and Indigo Yorath. They're everywhere. It's magnificent, majestic...'

'Magisterial?' Dan Buckley suggested.

'Well... yes!' The first commentator agreed, stunned. 'What is it with you this season, Dan?' He asked. 'Not knowing your stats last week, coming up with synonyms today...'

'It's 80-0 to Gryffindor,' the other boy ignored his friend's veiled jibe. 'Seven more goals will do it... and even Jason Newitt's joining in the fun. We haven't seen him on the scoresheet since _that_ game against Slytherin last season, but it looks like the Lions' captain wants to defend his title in style – and by rubbing Ravenclaw's noses in it as much as possible!'

'It's a procession,' Matthew shook his head as he watched from the terraces. 'They're taking the piss.' He kicked out at the air in front of him as Indigo Yorath made the score 90-0, and although Ravenclaw pulled a goal back, Gryffindor had added five more before the end of the first period. The whistle blew with the defending champions just one score away from retaining their title.

'Next year,' the Slytherin captain insisted as the match restarted after the break. 'Yorath will have left, they'll need a new chaser...'

'Newitt will still be here,' Oscar pointed out, 'and no-one's beaten him since third year.' He shrugged. 'But look, we're going to finish second – who'd have thought that...'

'NEAL KENNEDY HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!' Dan Beretta's excitable yell ripped across the stadium. 'The second period is just 20 seconds old, and the match is over! Jason Newitt's unbeaten record stops here!' The commentator took a breath. 'Did you see what happened, Dan?'

'I think so, Dan,' the other boy responded, 'it looked like the snitch just flew right at him – I think he's as surprised as we are.'

The stadium fell silent as the watching students realised what had happened, before the delighted shouts of celebration from the Ravenclaw supporters split the air.

'So what happens now?' Greg turned to the boys around him. 'Ravenclaw won, so they've got four points, just like us and Gryffindor.'

'They haven't scored enough, though,' Lucas added. 'That's the only time Neal's caught the snitch. They've got...' he lifted a piece of parchment out of the pocket of his trousers, but was beaten to the punch of his announcement as Dan Buckley gathered his thoughts in the commentary box.

'It's a three-way tie on four points each, Dan,' the sixth-year echoed Greg's deduction, 'so we split the Cup on total scores. Ravenclaw have 370, Slytherin have 520... and Gryffindor also have 520.'

The ground fell silent again as Buckley's words sunk in.

'It's a draw...' Isaac observed, disbelievingly.

'So...' Theo had begun to ask a question before Buckley's voice crackled out again, answering it before the first-year had spoken.

'This is the first time the Quidditch Cup has been tied since 1773,' Buckley continued, 'and now, as it was then, it is Gryffindor and Slytherin who are locked together. So now, as it was then – and unless there has been a change of rules which I don't know about – the 2006 Quidditch Cup will be decided with a play-off match.'


	21. Broken Glass

'You don't deserve it, you know?' Spencer Dawlish didn't hesitate to share his opinion as the first-years gathered outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom the following Monday.

'Don't deserve what?' Isaac wasn't in the mood to let the Gryffindor's taunts go unchallenged.

'You know what,' Dawlish sneered. 'To be in the playoffs. We've already beaten you once; we should be Champions already.'

'Shame you didn't beat Ravenclaw then, isn't it?' Isaac snapped. 'Cause we did, then they beat you, so shouldn't that make _us_ Champions?'

'Kennedy just got lucky,' Dawlish snorted, 'that snitch flew right into his hands. That wasn't skill.'

'Just ignore him, Zac,' Greg suggested.

'You guys are all lucky you're even allowed to be here,' the Gryffindor wasn't dissuaded. 'I don't know why they haven't just knocked down the Slytherin common room for good.'

'Yeah, I know,' Greg's eyes glazed into an icy stare as he ignored his own advice. 'I don't know why they let anyone with Death Eaters in their family anywhere near the school.'

Dawlish's cheeks burned a sudden red, and he swallowed as he heard the Slytherin's words. 'Why don't you just piss off?' The spiky-haired boy turned on his heel, before shoving Ciaran Abercrombie roughly to one side as he pushed to the front of the queue outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

'Greg...?' Lucas asked, tentatively. 'You said you'd never...'

'He deserved it,' the blond boy was unrepentant. 'He can't go around saying all that crap and not expect to get something back. I bet no one in Gryffindor ever stands up to him,' Greg glanced sideways, noticing that Ciaran still hadn't got up from the ground. 'Look at the way he goes around treating him, and no one cares.' He reached an arm out to the sandy-haired boy, who took it sheepishly, but not before checking to see that none of the other Gryffindors were looking.

'Thank you,' he whispered, 'but... I can't let them see me talking to you.'

Greg nodded. 'You've got to stick up for yourself more,' he insisted, but the pale Gryffindor had already turned his back, following his housemates into Jacob Tregeagle's classroom. 'How do they get away with it?'

'I know,' Theo answered his friend's question in a low voice. 'It's because he lets them; cause he doesn't dare try and stop it because it might just make it all worse.'

'First-years, in you come!' Tregeagle's command interrupted the Slytherins' reflections, and the boys filed into the classroom as the teacher began his instructions. 'It is two weeks until your final exams, and you are all greatly in need of practice – starting with the very basics: disarming spells, simple jinxes and hexes, and the shield and counter-spells. Anything may come up in your practical exam, depending on who ends up calling your name. The examiners have been instructed to change the tasks for each candidate, keeping you well and truly on your toes.'

He leaned over his lectern as Lucas, the last of the Slytherins, closed the classroom door, leading into a room that was, for once, free of desks or chairs. 'Today, I expect you to split into pairs to practise a spell and its counter-spell. Yes,' he paused, 'if you do it badly, then you will get hurt – so don't do it badly. Oh, Mr Abercrombie?' He glared at the sandy-haired Gryffindor. 'Do try to avoid getting yourself killed.'

'He's got no chance,' Greg shook his head, sadly, as he followed his friends to an empty corner of the classroom 'No chance at all when Tregeagle's his Head of House.'

'Can we start with disarming?' Theo asked.

The other boys nodded. 'Do you want to go first?' Lucas offered. 'Try it on me.'

'Alright,' The blond boy nodded. 'Expellarmus!' He jabbed his wand towards his friend, who simply stood there, unaffected by the failed spell.

'You're saying it wrong, mate,' Isaac observed. 'Watch.' He turned to face Greg, whipping his wand arm forwards with a flourish. 'Expelliarmus!'

'Hey!' Greg watched his wand spin into Isaac's left hand. 'I wasn't ready!'

'Ready?' Tregeagle's low voice snapped across the room. 'You weren't _ready_? Constant vigilance,' he bellowed, 'you must _always_ be ready.'

'I'm sorry, Professor,' Greg apologised. 'He's right, as well,' the eleven-year-old muttered as Isaac passed his wand back once the teacher had walked away. 'I should have been ready. Expelliarmus!' He aimed the spell back at Isaac.

'Protego!' A shield charm glowed around the other first-year, and a wide grin spread over his face as the disarming jet speared away into the classroom floor. 'I _was_ ready.'

Greg smiled wryly. 'Well done, mate.'

'I wish I could do that,' Theo sighed.

'I bet you can,' Greg insisted, 'the same as that Transfiguration... the same as spinning the quaffle. You've just got to concentrate on the right things.'

'Remember what Tregeagle said,' Lucas reminded his friends. 'Wand, Words and Willpower.'

'Tarantallegra!'

'Rictusempra!'

'Stupefy!'

'Levicorpus!'

The Slytherin boys turned around as they heard a volley of spells hitting their target in the next corner of the classroom.

'Guess who...?' Greg muttered, darkly.

'Ciaran,' Lucas sighed, watching the Gryffindor writhe in a magic-driven frenzy, dangling upside down as he suffered the effects of several spells at once.

'Finite Incantatem,' Tregagle intoned, leaving Ciaran to fall clumsily to the floor. 'Did you not hear what I just said? Constant vigilance!'

'I couldn't...' Ciaran stammered. 'There were four of them...'

'A properly-cast shield charm will resist against much more than four first-years, boy,' the professor held his glare. 'I would have thought that if there was one spell that _you_ would have made an effort to learn, that would have been it.'

'That's so unfair...' Theo whispered, watching the Gryffindor stumble to his feet amidst his housemates' ironic cheers.

'I wonder what they'll get him with next?' Lucas asked the question, but no sooner had the words escaped his lips than the sandy-haired boy decided to take matters into his own hands.

'STUPEFY!' Ciaran yelled, his face burning as he shot a jet of light straight at Professor Tregeagle.

'Where's his vigilance now?' Isaac observed, cynically, as the teacher stumbled backwards and the other Gryffindors' mouths fell open in shock.

'Stupefy, Stupefy, STUPEFY!' Tregeagle was back on his feet as Ciaran advanced, but a combination of the boy's desperate aim and the professor's easy shield charm meant that no further damage was done.

'Immobulus!' Tregeagle pointed his own wand back towards the first-year and the classroom fell silent. 'That's quite enough of that.' It was a silence that would not persist, however, as a low hissing noise began to thrum from within one of the cupboards that sat around the room. 'Funny,' the teacher opined, 'I thought I had sealed that.' He moved closer to the source of the disturbance, tutting to himself as he examined the steel barrier that sat across the glass casing. 'Ah...'

The professor lifted part of the metal guard, and as he did so a blast of cold air gusted out of the cupboard, knocking the teacher to the ground once again before spinning like a cyclone around the classroom.

Greg opened his mouth to speak, only to realise that the roar of wind would keep any of his questions from reaching his friends' ears, and instead settled for taking a firm grip on Lucas and Theo's robes. The other Slytherins quickly copied, holding tightly on to one another as the gusts of air coalesced into the bodies of spirits, both on foot and on horseback, surrounded by packs of dogs.

'The Wild Hunt...' Lucas mouthed, but no one heard him as the maelstrom grew to a crescendo, before bursting suddenly through one of the skylights that sat in a half-circle above the teacher's desk.

'This lesson is over!' Tregeagle announced, hurrying for the doorway, swiftly followed by the rest of Gryffindor House. 'Class dismissed!'

'Do you think that really was the Wild Hunt?' Lucas repeated into the silence as the four Slytherins walked across the deserted room towards Ciaran's motionless body, standing alone in its centre.

'What else could it have been?' Greg asked, rhetorically.

Isaac nodded. 'Sure explains Tregeagle's reaction, too, if _they_ were after his granddad.'

Greg paused in front of Ciaran. 'We're going to try and set you free,' he explained, 'but you must promise not to run off on us,' he stared into the Gryffindor boy's eyes as Theo took a tight hold of Ciaran's free hand. 'What was the charm?'

'Finite Incantatem,' Lucas answered.

Greg nodded. 'Alright,' he steeled himself. 'All of us – on three – one, two, three...'

'FINITE INCANTATEM!' Greg, Lucas and Isaac pointed their wands, firing jets of white light towards the first-year Gryffindor and sending him stumbling to the ground.

'Sorry...' Greg offered as the sandy-haired boy blinked, his eyes darting frenetically around the empty classroom. 'I didn't think we'd be that strong...'

Ciaran flinched as the Slytherin boy lifted an arm towards the side of his face, only to jerk his head back downwards as he realised Theo still held his left hand in a vice grip. 'Please don't hurt me,' his voice came in a panicked whisper. 'I didn't mean it; I don't know what that was, honest!' A stream of tears began to trickle down his pale face, and Greg ignored the Gryffindor's twitch as he raised his hand to Ciaran's shoulder once again.

'I know,' he spoke softly, 'I know.' Greg managed a gentle smile before Ciaran let his head drop, burying his face in the shoulder of the blond boy's robes.

'Colloportus,' Lucas aimed his own wand towards the classroom door, and Greg nodded his gratitude to the redhead. 'Ciaran,' he whispered, 'something happened in here today. Something weird, something that's probably dangerous. I want to find out what.' He looked around his circle of friends. 'We're going back down to the dungeon – our common room. Do you want to come with us, or should we take you to the hospital wing?'

'Not the hospital...' Ciaran mumbled.

'You're coming with us, then?' Greg repeated.

Ciaran grunted, his head still hidden.

'Good enough for me.'

'Votadini,' Isaac touched his wand to the marble wall that hid the door to the Slytherin common room. 'Here you are, then.'

Ciaran nodded dumbly, following the other first-years' path through into the lantern light of the dungeon. 'Thank you,' he muttered. 'I wonder who the last Gryffindor in here was?'

'Probably Harry Potter,' Lucas answered without missing a beat. 'During the Second War; during the Battle.'

'Come on, sit down, Ciaran,' Greg indicated the nearest sofa to the fireplace. 'Do you want something to drink?'

Ciaran shrugged, but Greg took the other boy's indecision to be agreement. 'Can you go and get something from the cupboard, Theo?' He turned back to the Gryffindor as his friend scampered off. 'When did...' He paused, correcting himself. 'Can you remember when all this started?'

'Do you remember the first Defence lesson?' Ciaran was a fraction taller than Lucas, the smallest of the first-year Slytherins, but his skin was paler than any of the other boys, and it seemed to grow ever more ashen as his whispered reply came back. 'That first piece of homework.'

'Yeah,' Isaac butted in, 'when you...'

'Zac!' Lucas elbowed his friend in the ribs. 'You don't need to remind him.'

'Thanks, Luc,' Greg smiled. 'We remember, mate. He made Theo do it all again, too, didn't he?'

'Do what again?' Theo had returned with a trayful of lemonade, which he set on a low table amidst the sofas before slumping back onto one of the leather seats.

'That first Defence essay,' Greg clarified.

'Oh, yeah,' the blond boy remembered, shaking his head. 'I loved that,' he remarked, sarcastically.

'They never let me forget,' Ciaran sighed. 'Any time they needed somebody to pick on, it was always me.'

'Like Halloween,' Isaac recalled.

'Yeah,' Ciaran nodded his head, slowly. 'I tried talking to them, but none of them even talked back. I tried telling Tregeagle, but he didn't care; he said he wasn't my babysitter. Then I tried ignoring them, but they just wouldn't stop...' The tears that had dried as Ciaran followed the Slytherins to their common room began to flow once again. 'They never leave me alone.' He sniffed. 'Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, not bullies!'

Greg dropped an arm over the other boy's shoulders. 'Houses don't mean everything, mate,' he counselled. 'What are Slytherins supposed to be like?'

Ciaran wiped his eyes. 'Not like you,' he shook his head. 'Nothing makes any sense any more! I just don't get it!' He thumped the cushion beside his thigh.

'Life's not as simple as you thought, right?' Greg summarised. 'That's what Matt said to me, and he's right. Life doesn't make perfect sense.'

'It would be boring if it did,' Theo agreed, 'but we decided we were sticking together, whatever happened.'

'That's easy if you've got friends,' Ciaran answered back, morosely. 'I haven't.'

'Well,' Lucas answered, matter-of-factly, 'that's only because you didn't want any.'

'What...?' Ciaran stammered.

'Don't you remember?' Lucas repeated. 'It was a flying lesson, in something like the second week. You said you didn't want any Slytherin help.'

The Gryffindor boy blushed, looking away from the redhead and staring at the tiled floor as the fringe of his sandy hair fell over his eyes.

'You do remember, don't you?' Lucas pressed.

'Yes,' the other boy murmured.

'Well, then,' Lucas was unrepentant. 'You chose it this way; you chose Gryffindors.'

'Yeah, I know.' Ciaran swallowed, before slowly lifting his eyes to gaze back to the other first-year. 'I guess I got that wrong.' He bit his lip. 'I'm sorry.'

'Oh,' Lucas blinked, surprise lining his face, before breathing a sigh of relief as Greg changed the subject.

'Don't worry about it, mate,' the other boy smiled. 'Hey, can you remember what Sorting Hat said to you...?' He paused, correcting himself. 'I mean, before it sorted you into Gryffindor.'

Ciaran sighed. 'It said I would fit into any of the Houses,' he recalled, 'and that it was my choice.'

'So why did you choose Gryffindor?' Theo followed up his friend's question.

'Cause of my brother,' Ciaran explained. 'He was in Gryffindor when he was here. He left a few years ago.'

'Alright,' Greg continued. 'It told me something Dumbledore once said... that it wasn't someone's abilities that made them into who they were, but their choices.'

Ciaran nodded. 'It's right,' he smiled, sadly. 'Merlin!' He kicked his right heel against the base of the black sofa. 'I've made so many bad choices this year.'

'So what?' Theo downed his own glass of lemonade. 'My rugby coach always said that experience was just a whole load of bad choices.'

Isaac rolled his eyes. 'Your rugby coach talked too much.'

'Yeah, maybe,' Theo shot back, instantly. 'Just like you.' He grinned as Isaac's smirk swiftly hardened into a glare.

'I bet he also said "never start something you can't finish", right Isaac?' Greg joined in with his friends' banter.

'Oh, piss off!' The brown-haired boy snapped back, reaching for his own glass of drink. 'Anyway,' he decided against continuing the argument, 'aren't we supposed to be figuring out what _that_ was all about?'

'Yeah,' Greg nodded. 'So, do you think it really was the Wild Hunt?'

'What else could it have been?' Theo protested. 'It fitted everything in all the descriptions, didn't it?'

'Sorry,' Ciaran interrupted, timidly, 'but what's the Wild Hunt?'

'I'll go and get the project,' Lucas volunteered, turning to head for the staircase that led down to the dormitories.

'You've never heard of it?' Theo asked.

'Well, obviously,' Isaac put in quickly, unable to pass up the chance to get one back over his friend. 'He wouldn't have asked if he had.'

'I guess.' Theo shrugged, unconcerned.

'I thought it was quite a well-known story,' Greg explained, playing for time as he waited for Lucas to return. 'I figured that, seeing as muggles had heard of it, most wizards would have done.'

'I'd never heard of it either,' Isaac admitted.

'Lucas never said...' Greg reflected. 'Hey, Lukie!' He called his friend's name as the noise of shoes on stone told the waiting first-years that the redhead was on his way back. 'Had you heard of the Wild Hunt before we did the project?'

'Um... yeah,' he nodded breathlessly, tossing the plastic-bound folder into Greg's lap, 'but only a little bit; only as a legend...'

'We did our project for History of Magic about them over Christmas,' Greg explained. 'I live near Dartmoor, near Wistman's Wood, which is where the Hunt's supposed to live.'

'There are _loads_ of stories,' Lucas added, 'about the Hunt chasing people – and ghosts – to the end of the world.' He paused, looking slowly towards Greg as his friend flicked idly through the folder. 'They chased one of the Tregeagles.'

Ciaran's eyes bulged wide. ' _Our_ Tregeagle?'

'Well, we don't know,' Greg admitted, 'I guess there can't be too many Tregeagles... and even fewer who are wizards. He has to have been a wizard,' he clarified, 'because he was a ghost when the Hunt chased him.'

'Wow...' The Gryffindor blinked. 'What happened to him?'

Lucas shook his head. 'We don't know,' he sighed. 'We couldn't find out. All the stories talk about is the tasks that Tregeagle had to do to keep him busy and keep the Hunt from taking him.'

'Then what happened to the Hunt after that?' Ciaran asked the same question that Neal Kennedy had done when he marked the project.

The Slytherins fell silent, before Greg finally spoke up. 'That's exactly what we've got to find out.'


	22. The Hunted

A low hum of conversation filled the Great Hall the following morning as the four Slytherins filed in, catching Ciaran's eye as the sandy-haired Gryffindor sat alone on his House Table.

'I wonder what the other first-years are doing?' Theo wondered aloud.

'Who cares?' Isaac remarked. 'At least they're leaving him alone for once.' He slipped onto the long bench beside the Slytherin table. 'Tregeagle's there, though,' he pointed towards the staff table.

'I wouldn't want to be him right now,' Greg shook his head as he sat down beside Isaac, 'not if everything we found out is true.'

Lucas shrugged. 'It might not be that much fun being us, either,' he observed, 'not if the Wild Hunt ends up loose in the school.'

'Oh, thanks for that, Lukie!' Theo rolled his eyes. 'That's a great thought to start the day with, mate.'

'Well, it's true,' Lucas protested.

'That doesn't mean I want to know!' The other boy brushed the fringe of his hair out of his eyes. 'Right now I just want a fried egg!'

'I don't know how you eat all that,' Greg helped himself to a glass of orange juice, 'especially in this weather.' The eleven-year-old ran a hand through his own matted fringe.

'I'm hungry,' Theo shrugged, nonchalantly slicing into a thick muffin, 'but yeah, you're right. It _was_ hot last night.'

'Do you think it was just in the dungeons?' Isaac asked.

'I don't think so,' Lucas argued, 'the dungeon's never been like that... not since that first week of term. It must have been even hotter in the towers.'

'Poor Gryffindors...' Isaac smirked, before noticing the targets of his joke trudging into the hall. 'Looks like they slept well,' he continued, sarcastically, before turning back to his own breakfast as the line of children, his sister at the rear, slowly made their way to their table.

'Let's see how they fly this morning,' Theo grinned through a mouthful of muffin. 'I bet...'

'LOOK OUT!' The Slytherin's wager was cut off abruptly as Professor Tregeagle shot to his feet, knocking the staff table in front of him onto its side and sending the crockery on top crashing to the stone floor below. 'CLEAR THE DOORWAY,' he bellowed. 'MISS DAVIES, NOW!'

'What on earth...' Isaac began to speak, but before he could form any more of his question, it was answered beyond all doubt as the great wooden doors of the Entrance Hall were flung from their iron hinges.

'Oh, crap...' Greg was far from the only pupil in the hall to swear as they watched the doorway shatter, but such was the noise of the splintering wood that none of the children could hear the others' bad language. The first-year Slytherins gaped, horrified and awestruck, as the silver spectral forms of the Hunt funnelled through into the Great Hall itself, knocking Holly Davies to the floor as she tarried too long in following her Head of House's instructions.

'Holly!' Isaac's frightened scream was loud enough for the boys around him to hear. 'No!' He made to push himself up from the table and run to his sister's aid, only for Greg to seize him around the wrist and haul him backwards.

'You can't, Zac!' Greg pulled his friend close enough for his insistent shout to reach the other boy's ears. 'The same thing will happen to you!'

Isaac's panicked eyes softened as he nodded his understanding, before edging closer to his fellow Slytherin as the noise of the invasion grew louder. The wisps and jets of smoke that had destroyed the door were now, as they had done in Tregeagle's classroom the previous day, gradually coming together to form the bodies of the Huntsmen and their animal entourage under the enchanted ceiling of the Hall. A line of spectral armoured men gathered in formation, surrounded by their hunting dogs and mounted on horseback, and presented itself in mid-air towards the staff table.

'Jacob Tregeagle,' the ghost at the head of the pack spoke up as the tumult of the Hunt's forced entry receded. 'Jacob Tregeagle,' he repeated, his voice low and hoarse, grinding against the insides of the children's ears. 'Answer me!'

'I am Jacob Tregeagle,' the professor stared coldly back towards the gathered spirits. 'What is your business here?'

'He knows!' Lucas whispered, animatedly. 'He must know why they're here...'

'Shh,' Theo put down his breakfast and lowered his voice. 'What if they hear you? What if they find out how much we know?'

'Oh,' Lucas blushed, 'Sorry.' He covered his mouth. 'I didn't think of that...'

'You know our business,' the spirit blazed. 'You are a Tregeagle.' Greg craned his neck around as the ghost spoke, stretching to catch a glimpse of the Defence professor's son. Like everyone else, however, the twelve-year-old was doing nothing more than staring, open-mouthed, towards the staff table. 'You are our business.'

'Not here!' Tregeagle roared. 'Not in this school!' He held his wand arm out towards the massed spirits. 'Dim Helwyr,' He called out. 'Dim Helwyr ar Ysgol!' A pulse of white light arced out towards the gathered spirits, only to fade and dissolve as the lead huntsman held up his arm.

'Un Flwyddyn,' the professor yelled, jerking his wand at the Huntsmen again. 'Chwe mis,' he snapped, repeating the wand movement. 'Un mis,' Tregeagle asserted, as the white jet glowed ever brighter and ever longer and the battalion of Hunters closed their ranks.

'Pythefnos,' the teacher insisted. ' _Dim Helwyr ar Ysgol... un Wythnos!_ ' Tregeagle stabbed his wand arm outwards, ejecting a stream of light so vivid that the children had to turn away and shield their faces.

'What happened...?' Theo rubbed the back of his arm across his eyes as the Great Hall blinked back into his vision. 'Where did they go?'

'Thank you!' Minerva McGonagall rose to her feet. 'That will be enough.' She stared, hawk-like, over the rims of her half-moon spectacles towards the four House tables. 'Prefects,' she announced, 'please ensure that all students return to their common rooms. The first period of the morning is cancelled.' The Headmistress paused. 'Unless you hear otherwise, lessons will begin when the bell rings for the start of the second period. All corridors are out of bounds until that time.'

'That's the bell, then,' Greg kicked off the leather sofa as a sharp ring echoed over the Slytherin common room. 'I guess that means we go to History of Magic?'

'I wonder if Neal knows any more about the Hunt?' Lucas offered.

'I wonder if the Gryffindors know what's happened to Holly,' Isaac had hardly spoken since the boys had returned to the dungeons.

'There's only one way to find out,' Theo stood up, heading for the door. 'Come on,' the blond boy flicked his long fringe behind his ears, 'let's go.'

'Lucas?' Greg paused as he reached the door. 'Have you still got that folder?'

'Yes,' the redhead nodded. 'It's still in my bag.' He followed his friends through the common room door and along the corridors towards the ground floor classroom, where Neal Kennedy and the Gryffindor first-years were waiting.

'Hi, guys,' the Ravenclaw greeted them.

'Hey, Neal,' Theo answered on behalf of the Slytherins, as the four boys found seats at one side of the classroom.

'Right,' the seventh-year pushed himself up from the front of his desk. 'I guess there's no point in pretending you want to revise any of Binns' notes,' Neal winced at his own joke. 'Sorry,' he apologised, 'that was bad, even for me.' The Ravenclaw sighed. 'I know what you're going to ask, but no one's told us anything else about this morning. You guys know as much as I do,' he paused, before looking purposefully to the group of Slytherins and then across to Joshua Tregeagle. 'Probably even more.'

'What're you looking at me for?' Joshua blustered. 'Just cause my Dad's the Defence teacher!' A thin sheen of sweat had already formed on the boy's freckled forehead, and he fiddled with the knot of his tie as he fidgeted on his seat.

'Yeah, that's the idea,' a sudden voice came from the rear corner of the classroom.

'Shut up, Megan,' Joshua snapped, jerking his head around over his shoulder to stare at the tall, blonde girl who had spoken out. 'You don't know anything about it, either.'

'I know that it's chasing your Dad,' the girl sneered, 'and then it'll probably come after you.'

'I told you to shut up!' Joshua stood up sharply, his eyes burning. 'It's none of your business.'

'Now, Joshua...' Neal reasoned, walking over towards the Gryffindor boy. 'It doesn't help anyone if you get worked up like this.'

'Tell her that!' Joshua retorted. 'Tell her to keep her big ugly nose out!'

'That's enough, Josh,' the Ravenclaw repeated, more sternly this time, 'and Megan, if you have nothing productive to add, then I would appreciate it if you kept quiet.' The girl snorted as Neal glared at her, but she stayed silent as the seventh-year turned back to Joshua. 'Thank you,' he whispered to the boy. 'I know this must be difficult...'

'I kind of feel sorry for him,' Greg admitted to his friends as the Slytherins watched the teacher's son fighting to hold back tears. 'It's not his fault that the Hunt's after his family.'

Isaac shrugged. 'Doesn't change the fact that he's been a gigantic tosser for the whole year.'

'Does he even know what his great-great-grandfather,' Lucas paused, 'or whoever it was, did?'

Greg looked across the room. 'Joshua,' he called out, slowly. 'Do you know the story of the Wild Hunt?'

The Gryffindor shook his head.

'Have you ever heard of it?' Greg asked again, watching as the other boy gave the same response. 'Has anyone else?' A scattering of hands, including Ciaran's, edged upwards. 'Should we tell them, Neal?' He glanced to the seventh-year.

'You might as well, mate,' Neal nodded. 'No one's gonna listen to anything else,' he reflected.

'Right...' Greg stammered, 'well... we did our holiday project about it.' He held his hand out, smiling gratefully as Lucas passed him the plastic folder containing their work. 'It's a muggle legend as well as a magical one.'

The eleven-year-old opened the folder, starting to read from the very first page. 'The Wild Hunt,' he began, 'is found in stories of mythology and folklore across Britain and Northern Europe. Whilst the exact nature of the huntsmen differs from region to region, a handful of key similarities link each legend: giant black dogs, leaders with no compassion for their prey, and ranks that would chase to the ends of the earth.'

Greg chanced a glance upwards, suddenly aware that the room had fallen quiet, and all of the Gryffindors' eyes now rested upon him. 'The tales date back to the middle ages and stretch as far as the early 19th century,' he read, before pausing for breath and continuing from his memory. 'A lot of the British legends say that the Hunt is based in Wistman's Wood, on the edge of Dartmoor in Devon, so we went to the wood, to see if we could find anything out whilst we were there.'

'Well?' an anonymous voice asked.

'We didn't,' Greg answered, 'and I'm glad we didn't,' he admitted, shivering. 'Not if this morning was anything to go by. We could tell there had been something there, though,' the boy continued. 'It was like it is when you go into a classroom after the seventh-years have been there... we could feel that powerful magic had been done there.' Greg repeated the description that he'd first given to Theo during the Christmas holidays. 'It's called a magical signature.'

'Yes,' Neal nodded, as if he sensed dissent forming amongst the other first-years, 'that makes sense. Magical signatures can last for hundreds of years if they are left by suitably strong magic – there are lots of places in Britain where even muggles can feel them. Of course, they don't call them magical signatures, but they can feel that there's something unusual in the air.'

Greg smiled, grateful that the older boy had backed him up, before flicking through the pages of his project as he continued to read. 'Then we went to find out everything we could about the muggle stories about the Hunt, so we went to the library in Exeter. The Hunt is meant to have chased loads and loads of people, but wherever we looked, one story kept coming up again and again: the story of Jan Tregeagle.'

Every pair of eyes in the room fell towards Joshua, whose face paled as the realisation sunk in.

'Do you want to hear it, Josh?' Neal interrupted before Greg could begin his retelling.

'I... I guess I should,' Joshua nodded limply. 'I'll probably find out soon anyway.'

'Okay then, Greg,' the seventh-year turned back to the Slytherins. 'Go on.'

'Right,' Greg gathered himself, picking out the correct section in his folder, 'the story of Jan Tregeagle.' He took a final breath. 'Tregeagle was a lawyer who lived in Cornwall in the 17th century. He was a horrible person: a selfish, arrogant man who was only ever out for himself. None of the books we read had a single good thing to say about him. Some stories say he sold his soul to the Devil, others that he murdered his wife and children.'

Greg chanced a glance at Joshua as he read, and noticed that the little colour that remained in the boy's cheeks had drained away beneath his freckles. 'He must have been a wizard, though,' Greg continued to read, 'because of what happened after he died. Just before his death, he was the only witness to a deal where one man loaned another a lot of money. The other man then denied it had ever happened so that he didn't have to pay it back: it all went to court,' Greg explained, 'and the man who owed the money shouted out, "If Tregeagle ever saw it, I wish to God he would come and declare it!"'

Greg turned the page of his folder. 'Next, as the courtroom laughed, Tregeagle's ghost appeared in the witness box, confirming that the loan had indeed taken place.' The Slytherin watched as Joshua hunched himself more and more closely against the classroom wall. 'Then,' he continued, 'the jury decided that Tregeagle couldn't go back to hell. Instead, they gave his spirit a series of tasks to do that would keep him occupied, and therefore keep him safe from the hounds of the Wild Hunt that would be sure to chase him otherwise.'

'Did they ever catch him?' A boy's voice filled the silence that followed Greg's revelations.

'We don't know,' Lucas answered. 'Every time we found a story about Tregeagle, we looked to see what happened, and there are lots of different tasks that he's supposed to have been given.' The redhead took the folder from his friend's grasp. 'Emptying a bottomless pool, removing all the sand from a beach that was filled up again every high tide, or weaving a rope from grains of sand. None of the stories ever say that he finally escaped, or that he was captured.'

'Was he... definitely... related to Josh?' Spencer Dawlish stuttered.

'We've got no proof, Spencer,' Neal Kennedy beat the boys to an answer, 'but you were there at breakfast, weren't you? That wouldn't have happened if they weren't related, would it?'

'So what's happening now?' The spiky-haired boy pressed. 'Why are they chasing Professor Tregeagle? What's going to happen to Holly?' The quiet in the classroom began to shatter as several isolated conversations broke out and the first-years speculated about the answers.

'That's enough,' Neal held his hands up. 'I am sure Holly will be alright. I've never heard of ghosts being able to kill people just by passing through them, no matter how many hundred of them there are,' he sighed. 'If I'm honest, though, Spencer, I just don't know why they're after the professor. Maybe they never caught the guy Greg was talking about... maybe they're after his descendants instead?'

'Oh, bloody hell...' Joshua Tregagle let his head slip to the table in front of him.

'Joshua,' the Ravenclaw warned. 'You don't need to use that language.'

'That's easy for you to say,' he picked his head up again, his eyes raw as the colour returned to his face in an angry rush. 'It's not your family!' The twelve-year-old seethed, talking over the seventh-year's attempts to reason with him. 'You said it yourself, you don't know what you're talking about, so just piss off and leave me alone!' He stood up, pushing past Spencer and heading for the back door of the classroom, slamming it behind him as the bell for morning break echoed through the corridor outside.

'Did you hear what happened in History of Magic?' Isaac and the other first-year Slytherins hurried to the Transfiguration classroom to catch their Hufflepuff friends before the next lesson began. 'Joshua Tregeagle told Neal Kennedy to piss off!'

Cameron gasped. 'What, really? To his face?'

Isaac nodded. 'He stood up in front of everyone and said, "you don't know what you're talking about, so piss off and leave me alone".'

'Wow,' the little Hufflepuff gaped. 'What happened to him?'

'Well...' Isaac hesitated, 'nothing, really.'

'What?' Cameron pestered the Slytherin. 'You mean he got away with it?'

'I think Neal felt guilty about what he'd said before,' Greg reasoned. 'He said that the Hunt might have been chasing Josh because it never caught Jan Tregeagle, all those years ago.'

'That might be true, though, mightn't it?' Glyn asked. 'You said you never knew if Jan Tregeagle got caught or not.'

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, 'but you don't just go out and say it like that, do you?' He shook his head, before glancing cheekily at one of his friends. 'Well, Zac might...'

'You can piss off, too!' Isaac shoved Greg on the shoulder, but he smiled as he did so. 'I wouldn't; you know I wouldn't,' he protested.

'You wouldn't call someone a squib, either, would you?' Lucas remarked, drily, before grinning as he watched his friend blush furiously.

'What do you mean?' Glyn's eyes narrowed.

'Nothing,' Lucas shrugged, smiling as he turned to follow his friend into the Transfiguration classroom.

'Oh, come on, Luc,' Isaac whispered as the boys sat down around a circular table at the edge of the room. 'That was _ages_ ago.'

'I know, Zac,' the redhead smiled, 'but you still said it.'

The other boy sighed. 'You know I never meant it,' he shook his head. 'I said I was sorry,' he winced. 'What else do I have to do?'

'Isaac?' Theo dropped onto a chair beside the other Slytherins. 'That doesn't sound like you.'

'Yeah, well it is,' the brown-haired boy glared back at his friend, 'and it's not funny, not today, so just leave it out, alright?'

'Okay, Zac,' Greg joined the other boys. 'We've got more important things to worry about.'

'So you won't mention it again?' Isaac pressed.

'Alright,' Greg nodded, as Professor McGonagall turned to face the class. 'We won't.'

'First-years!' The Headmistress announced. 'Now, I'm sure you are all aware of the events of this morning. Let me assure you that we are doing all that we can to investigate them and find a solution,' she paused. 'What we do not need are pupils spreading rumours or stories, or trying to figure things out for themselves.'

'Professor,' Glyn raised his hand.

'Mr Jones,' McGonagall eyed the Hufflepuff sternly. 'There do not need to be any questions.'

'But,' the boy protested, 'the spell that Professor Tregeagle cast... Why was it in Welsh?'

'Mr Jones,' the Headmistress repeated herself, focusing her severe stare on the twelve-year-old. 'That is none of your business, and I suggest you keep it that way.' She glanced down towards the textbook on her desk, and as she did so Greg caught the eye of his Welsh friend.

'Our table at lunch,' he mouthed.

'Now,' McGonagall looked up, 'we will start by revising the basic snail-teapot transfiguration...'


	23. Loyalties

'Are you sure it was Welsh?' Lucas asked eagerly as the Hufflepuff boys joined the Slytherins in the Great Hall.

'Yes,' Glyn rolled his eyes. 'Of course I'm sure!' He insisted. 'I speak Welsh! All my lessons at Primary School were in Welsh!'

'Alright, Glyn,' Jai tried to calm his friend. 'I believe you.'

'Me too,' Greg added. 'So does Lukie.'

'Yeah,' the redhead nodded. 'I do.' He smiled, timidly. 'What did he say?'

The Welsh boy winced. 'That's the problem,' he admitted. 'I couldn't really tell. It didn't sound like a spell – just a load of words. They were definitely Welsh words,' he insisted, staring pointedly at Lucas, 'but they were hardly in order. It was like he'd tried to learn the language but didn't know how to form a sentence properly.' Glyn sighed. 'You know, like when you hear a foreign Quidditch player like Zakis interviewed on the wireless, and he says, "I make good goal," or something like that.'

'Did it make any sense at all?' Jai asked. 'Did you catch any of it?'

Glyn nodded. 'I think he said "no hunters in the school", or something like that, but his accent was really bad... It was difficult to tell exactly what it was. I think he said "a fortnight" or "a week" at the end.'

'Maybe he was trying to tell them to get out?' Greg suggested. 'Cause that's what happened in the end, wasn't it? After that flash of light?'

'Yeah,' Glyn agreed, 'but why did he say it in Welsh? He's not Welsh, they're not Welsh. There's hardly anyone here who speaks Welsh except me...'

'Ed Williams is Welsh,' Isaac noted, pointing to a blond seventh-year Ravenclaw who was leaning over the Gryffindor table at that moment, talking with Ciaran Abercrombie. 'He takes our Herbology study lessons.'

'He's not Welsh!' Glyn shot back.

'He's from Swansea...' the Slytherin reasoned.

'Exactly,' Glyn seethed. 'If he was properly Welsh, he wouldn't call it Swansea. He'd call it Abertawe. I bet he doesn't even speak any Welsh...'

'Careful, Glyn,' Cameron warned, nervously, 'he's coming!'

'Afternoon, boys,' Ed Williams may not have been properly Welsh in Glyn's eyes, but his accent was rich enough to convince the other first-years of his nationality. 'Little bit of fun for you this afternoon,' he grinned. 'Absolutely your choice, but if you're up for it then we're going down the Black Lake and seeing what we can find by the shore. Bring your swimmers if you're keen. Otherwise you can please yourselves.' The seventh-year turned, heading for the Great Hall doors, and leaving the younger children to mull over his offer.

'Shall we do it?' Greg asked.

'Why not?' Theo beamed. 'How many chances do you get to swim in the Black Lake?'

'But it'll be freezing...' Lucas complained, only for Isaac to quickly talk over him.

'Which will make a nice change from being too bloody hot in here, right? I'm in,' he reached his hand forwards across the table. 'Who's with me?'

With degrees of enthusiasm that ranged from eagerness to resigned reluctance, the other three boys leaned out to place their hands on top of Isaac's.

'Cool,' the brown-haired boy smiled.

'We'll see if Ed knows anything about the Welsh magic as well,' Greg ignored Glyn's sarcastic shrug, before turning round and gesturing breaststroke towards Ciaran, who nodded his understanding, flashing a quick thumbs-up back to the Slytherins.

'Is anyone else coming, then?' Ed Williams sat on the thick root of a lakeside tree as a scattering of first-year boys waited on the shingle beach. 'I know there's no more Slytherins, but I'd have thought there'd have been more than two Gryffindors...' he mused. 'Obviously not as brave as they used to be,' he grinned.

Ciaran managed a thin smile as the Slytherin boys laughed at the seventh-year's joke, but the other Gryffindor, sitting on his own, away from the other five boys, was not as easily amused.

'He's called Aidan, isn't he?' Greg leaned towards Ciaran, whispering to the sandy-haired boy.

'Yeah,' the boy nodded. 'Aidan Mills'.

'Well, boys,' Ed wasn't distracted. 'Water plants,' he grinned. 'They're one of Professor Longbottom's favourites. In fact, I get the feeling you might be seeing them on your exam. So,' the Ravenclaw continued, 'we're going to see what we can find out about their habitats. I'd like you to work in pairs – there are six of you, so that should be easy enough – and find me a specimen of each of these three.' He flicked his wand towards an illustrated board, sending a cloth covering drifting to the floor. 'You have fifteen minutes!'

'Do you want to go with Aidan?' Greg covered his mouth as he questioned Ciaran, who shook his head in reply. 'Fine,' the blond Slytherin shrugged. 'I will,' he strode over to the other Gryffindor. 'Looks like it's me and you,' he announced. 'Which one are we going to get first?'

'Er... flaxweed?' Aidan offered, straight-faced. The Gryffindor was around Greg's height, with a thin face that sat beneath a messy bundle of dirty brown hair. 'There might be some by those tree roots.'

Greg followed the Gryffindor boy behind Ed Williams' noticeboard and towards a tangled maze of bark that led down to the shore, only hesitating as the sounds of shouts and splashing water told him that his friends weren't strictly following the seventh-year's instructions.

Aidan stopped abruptly as the roots dropped away to the water's edge. 'Why aren't you playing with them?' He asked.

'Ed asked us to go in pairs,' Greg answered.

'Yeah,' Aidan stared back at the Slytherin. 'I know. So why didn't you leave Abercrombie to go with me?'

'He didn't want to,' Greg couldn't see any reason to lie.

Aidan snorted. 'So you just let him?'

'Why shouldn't I?' The Slytherin was unmoved.

'You're a Slytherin...'

'You're a Gryffindor,' Greg shot back. 'So why have you guys been treating him like crap all year?' He shook his head as the other boy shuddered. 'You know what I mean.'

'Well,' Aidan protested, 'I didn't start it...' His voice faltered for the first time.

'So that makes it alright then, does it?' Greg rolled his eyes. 'Is that what being a Gryffindor is all about now? Doing what Dawlish tells you to? How _brave_ ,' he smirked.

'But...' Aidan swallowed. 'If I didn't, then they'd just pick on me as well.'

'How Gryffindor,' Greg's voice filled with sarcasm. 'I wish everyone was that brave,' he repeated, watching the other four first-years playing in the shallows as Aidan sat silently beside him. 'Are we getting this flaxweed, then?'

'Okay,' the Gryffindor boy muttered, quietly. 'There should be some on the roots down there,' he leaned forward, reaching his arm under the water and picking a handful of leaves from beneath the wood. 'Yeah,' he confirmed, 'here it is.'

'What's next?' The Slytherin inspected the tangled plant as Aidan held it out to him.

'Green bogroot,' the other boy replied.

'Won't that live on the bottom of the lake?' Greg asked.

'Yes,' Aidan nodded.

A grin crept over the blond boy's face. 'Are you coming, then?' He pulled his t-shirt over his head, and tiptoed to the water's edge. 'Or are you scared?'

'I'm not scared,' Aidan shot back, lifting his own shirt off. 'I'll go first,' he dived from the end of the tree roots, disappearing under the water as Greg swiftly followed.

'That's more like Gryffindor.' Greg grinned, and Aidan couldn't stop himself from smiling.

'I'm meant to hate you,' Aidan confessed. 'Gryffindor and Slytherin,' he explained, 'but for some reason I just can't...'

'Guess I'd better try harder then!' The Slytherin laughed, splashing a wave of spray over the other boy's hair.

'Watch it!' Aidan retorted, copying the other boy's playful attack, before ducking out of the way as Greg countered. 'What about the bogroot?'

'Who cares about bogroot? You can see that any time! When do you get to do this...' Holding his breath, the eleven-year-old ducked under the lake, swimming around Aidan's back before emerging to drench the Gryffindor's hair.

'Hey!' The other boy spun around, shaking the water from his bedraggled hair, and forgetting his pursuit of the water plant as he joined the other boys' games.

'Alright, then,' Ed Williams' shout brought their fun to an end. 'Everyone in,' he smiled. 'With your plants.'

'I'll go get the flaxweed,' Greg announced, striking out for the bank of roots from which they'd dived earlier. 'See you in a minute.'

'Who's got their plants, then?' The Ravenclaw asked as the boys gathered back together.

'I've got flaxweed,' Greg waved the leaves up in the air, before tossing Aidan's abandoned t-shirt to the other boy.

'I got bogroot,' the Gryffindor added, quietly. 'I got it at the end, after you called us in,' he explained to the seventh-year.

'We have our winners, then,' Ed concluded. 'So, who can tell me about these little beauties, then?'

The lesson drew onwards as Ed revised the three species, and as he finished up, Greg spoke out. 'Thanks, Ed,' he hesitated. 'This might sound a bit weird, but... well... seeing as you're Welsh, we wondered if you knew what Tregeagle was saying at breakfast?'

The seventh-year smiled. 'I'm afraid I don't speak much Welsh, boys,' he admitted.

'Oh, Glyn'll love that...' Isaac sighed.

'Glyn?'

'He's in our year,' the younger boy explained. 'He said you wouldn't be able to speak Welsh because you were from Swansea.'

Ed laughed. 'Typical North Welshman, am I right?' The seventh-year seemed unconcerned. 'Kennedy's told me that you guys are trying to find out what's going on. I know there are supposed to be stories of Old Welsh magic from well before Hogwarts was founded... even before the Romans,' the Ravenclaw shook his head, 'but he's the one you want to ask about all that.'

'Well,' Isaac reflected as the boys trekked back up to the castle in the late afternoon sunlight. 'What next?'

'I think we should try and find out more about this Old Welsh magic,' Lucas suggested. 'We could go to the library.'

'The library?' Isaac groaned. 'You want to go to a library on a day like this...?'

'I don't think the Wild Hunt care about what kind of day it is,' Greg pointed out. 'Anyway, what else are you going to do, Zac?'

'See my sister?' The other boy shot back, instantly.

'Oh,' The blond boy swallowed, embarrassed. 'I'm sorry, mate,' he apologised into an awkward silence. 'I forgot.'

'I'll come see your sister with you, Zac,' Theo tried to divert his friends' attention as Isaac stared stonily back at Greg.

'Thanks,' the brown-haired boy nodded as the group of first-years entered the corridor that led back down to the Slytherin dungeon.

'Zac, I'm sorry,' Greg tried again as the boys headed their separate ways moments later.

'You said,' Isaac retorted, bluntly.

'I mean it,' Greg pleaded. 'I didn't think...'

'Well maybe you should try it sometimes,' Isaac barely turned as he spoke, only for Theo to hold his arm out and block his friend's path as he headed for the stairs that would lead to the hospital wing.

'Zac,' Theo whispered, holding the other boy still. 'You're not thinking now.'

Isaac's head dropped almost instantly, and he turned around slowly to face the other two first-years. 'Greg... It doesn't matter. It's alright,' he muttered.

'Thanks, mate,' Greg managed a weak, but relieved, smile.

'Slytherins stick together, right?' Theo's voice echoed around the corridor.

'Always,' Lucas answered, holding his hand out in the same way that Isaac had done at lunch, and watching the other boys copy without hesitation. 'Slytherins stick together,' he repeated, before turning to head for the library alongside Greg. 'See you later.'

'Do you know anything about Welsh magic?' The blond boy asked his friend as they wound their way to the library tower.

Lucas shook his head. 'I mean, I know the Romans came here... two thousand years ago, and they conquered England and Wales – and they must have fought back, but...'

'What about druids?' An idea crossed Greg's mind. 'Muggle history talks about druids... I think they were meant to be like ancient wizards.'

'That could be true,' the redhead admitted. 'That was way before the Statute of Secrecy, so there could have been wizards fighting with the Welsh.'

'Do you think there'll be any books about it in the Hogwarts library?' The muggle-born boy wondered aloud. 'I don't think anything in my world would be of any use...'

'I don't know,' Lucas shrugged. 'Only one way to find out, though,' he pushed open the double door that lead into the reading room, before turning to pore over the pages of a catalogue. 'Section 936,' he read. 'Upstairs.'

'Can you find anything decent?' Greg turned to his friend as he thumbed numbly through the weak pages of a volume entitled _Annales Cambriae_. 'This is hopeless.'

'No,' the other boy answered, 'well, not really. I got one that might be alright.' He held up a thickly-bound book. ' _Druidian Lore_ ,' he read the cover, before leafing through the thinly-typeset pages within. 'It's the right topic, I guess, but it just looks so boring...'

'You can read that one, then,' Greg deadpanned, pulling another book off the shelf as he returned the _Annales Cambriae_ to its rightful place. 'How about this one – _Combrogi: A lost people_?' He held up the book, and Lucas shook his head, blankly.

'Doesn't look much better,' he replied. 'I guess we'll only find out if we try to read them.' He headed towards a circular table, set away from the bookshelves into a window bay, only for his friend to hesitate, his attention clearly somewhere else.

'Is that... Josh Tregeagle?' Greg pointed towards a neighbouring chamber, where the dusty crop of a boy's hair lay flat on top of a desk, his face squashed against the pages of a book upon which he had clearly fallen asleep.

'I think so,' Lucas nodded, following the other Slytherin towards the dozing boy.

'Josh?' Greg offered, before gently shaking the Gryffindor's collar and calling his name again. 'Joshua? Are you alright?' He asked as the twelve-year-old stirred.

'Uh...' Joshua blinked, lifting his head slowly from the pages that had smudged print over his freckled face. Unlike the Slytherins, he was still in his school uniform, although he had loosened his tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt. 'What do you want?'

Greg swallowed. 'I just wanted to see if you were alright, that's all.'

The Gryffindor blinked again. 'W... Why?'

'Cause you were asleep on top of a book,' Greg replied, honestly, 'reading about...' He sat down beside the other boy, peering onto the thin font beneath his hands. 'The Wild Hunt.'

Joshua snapped the book shut in a hurry. 'It's none of your business,' he spat.

'You said you'd never heard of the Wild Hunt this morning,' Lucas challenged him. 'It's only cause of our project that you even know what it is!'

'Piss off,' Joshua snarled, his eyes narrowing. 'I would have found out anyway.'

'How?' Lucas didn't back down despite the other boy's bad language.

'I just would have done, alright?' The Gryffindor's face had reddened, and his breathing quickened.

'Leave it, Lukie,' Greg interrupted, before his friend could get in another shot. 'Josh,' he turned back to the Gryffindor, 'we both want to find out the same things, don't we? We both want to find out more about the Wild Hunt... and what it wants with your Dad.' He paused. 'It doesn't make any sense to fight about it now.'

'I... I guess,' the other boy conceded.

Under the table, Greg kicked Lucas gently on the ankle, before angling his head towards the third member of the group.

'Sorry,' the redhead offered.

'Yeah, sorry,' Joshua muttered in reply.

Greg allowed himself a brief smile, before remembering something that forced him to change the subject. 'Josh, how long have you been here?'

'Since History of Magic.'

'Have you had anything to eat?'

The Gryffindor looked back towards him, before shaking his head slowly. 'No. We had to go straight from breakfast because of what happened with the Hunt, and then I missed dinner, and...'

'We'll go to the kitchens,' Greg decided. 'Come on,' he insisted. 'Bring the books. We can try and read whilst we're down there.'

'Kitchens...?' Joshua blinked.

'What, you've never been?' The blond Slytherin gaped in surprise. 'I guess that's because you never made friends with any Hufflepuffs...'

Greg sidled up to the painting that guarded the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens, surreptitiously tickling the green pear that he knew would lead to the portrait swinging open to allow the three boys access.

'Wow,' Joshua stammered as he followed the two Slytherins into the long, low room, before sitting unsteadily down on a low worktop.

'It's not bad, is it?' Greg smiled, before turning his attention to the scattering of house-elves that had massed around the first-years. 'Our friend hasn't had anything to eat today,' he announced. 'Please could you make something for him?'

'What did you say?' Joshua shook himself as a handful of the elves busied themselves with the boy's request.

'You hadn't had anything to eat?' Greg turned back to the Gryffindor. 'That's what you said, wasn't it?'

'No,' Joshua contradicted him. 'Before that.'

'Oh,' Greg hesitated, realising what it was that the other boy's hearing had picked out. 'Well, what else was I going to say?' He asked, rhetorically. 'We found this guy in the library and he told us to piss off...'

'Funny,' Joshua sneered. 'You try finding out that your family's been hiding something from you all your life; see how you deal with it.'

'What like?' Lucas turned to stare at the Gryffindor. 'Something like your Dad being a muggle who you've never met? Does that count?' The redhead's chest rose as his breathing hurried.

'You... your Dad...?' Joshua stammered.

'How did you guess?' Lucas countered, angrily.

'Bloody hell,' Joshua shook his head.

'You swear too much,' Greg tried to lighten the mood, but Joshua could only smile sadly.

'I don't know what to do...' His voice suddenly wavered. 'I mean, I can't fight back, and even if I could, I don't even know what the hell I'm meant to be fighting against... Sorry,' he sniffed.

'It's alright,' Greg shuffled onto the worktop beside the Gryffindor, and remembered one of the first things Matthew had told him after he had received his Hogwarts letter. 'Sometimes there's just nothing else you can say.'

'Thank you,' Joshua muttered, barely managing to look the Slytherin in the eye. 'Why... why are you doing this for me?' He asked slowly as one of the house-elves delivered a plate of sandwiches to his grateful hands.

Greg took a deep breath. 'I guess,' he began, deciding to be brutally honest with his answer. 'I guess it's because I want to find out more about everything that's going on. I mean, we've found some stuff out, but we don't know if it's true or not...'

Joshua nodded sharply, turning away from Greg as he attacked the pile of sandwiches. 'So you didn't mean really mean it, then?'

'Mean what?'

The Gryffindor's voice dropped suddenly. 'That we were friends.'

Greg struggled to keep his mouth from falling open with surprise. 'What?' He stuttered, stumbling carelessly over his words. 'After everything you've said...?'

'Forget it,' Joshua muttered, blinking the shadows of tears out of his eyes. 'I knew you didn't; not really.'

'Do _you_ mean it?' Lucas interrupted, his voice unusually cold as he fixed his stare on the Gryffindor.

'Yes,' Joshua's answer came back as little more than a whisper, his freckles standing out above ever paler cheeks. 'I don't know what's going to happen...'

Greg glanced at Lucas, before cautiously lifting his hand to rest on Joshua's shoulder. 'Josh...'

'I'm sorry,' the other boy mumbled, 'for telling you to piss off...'

'It's alright,' Greg counselled. 'Most of my friends have told me to do that at least once by now.'

The Gryffindor managed a stifled smile through a mouthful of sandwich, which Greg returned as Lucas sat down on Joshua's other side.

'I haven't,' the redhead grinned, picking up the three books he had carried with him from the library. 'So, shall we try and have a look at these before we have to go to Quidditch...'

The cloudless skies of that afternoon persisted long into the evening, and the Slytherins' practice only ended as the sun slipped below the horizon and the hour hands of the school clocks edged towards ten.

'That'll do,' Matthew announced as one of Isaac's shots rattled against the edge of a hoop, deflecting back past Seb's dive. 'Come on, everyone in.' His broom accelerated the short distance that was needed to collect the quaffle as it drifted towards the ground. 'We've got to do better than that if we're going to beat Gryffindor,' he declared.

The first-years looked at one another sullenly as the captain complained.

'Zac, where was your finishing?' Matthew started to go around the group. 'Lucas, it was like you'd forgotten how to catch. Greg, you were too slow nearly every time we tried a move. Theo, you missed way too many bludgers,' he sighed. 'It was like being right back in September all over again.'

'Well,' the fourth-year continued into the silence that had followed his criticisms. 'Have you got anything to say for yourselves, or are you just going to sit there?'

'What do you want us to say?' Greg challenged his neighbour. 'Do you think we weren't trying?'

'It looked like it,' Matthew snapped.

'No it didn't!' Oscar cut across his friend, repeating himself as the first-years blurted angry responses. 'No it didn't, Matt. Would we have finished tied with Gryffindor if they hadn't been trying?'

The captain relented. 'I guess not,' he admitted. 'But that doesn't change the fact that we weren't that good tonight.'

'Yeah, well, have you never had a bad day?' Greg retorted. 'Do you expect us to be perfect?'

'No...'

'Well, why are you acting like it?' Greg shook his head, feeling the sweat collecting on the back of his neck beneath his Quidditch jersey.

'Yeah,' Theo backed his friend. 'What about that pass from you that went right over Zac's head?'

'Guys,' Oscar protested, 'leave it. Please!'

'It's not just us,' Theo shot back. 'He started it!'

'Oh, for Merlin's sake!' Oscar raised his voice. 'You're all acting like little kids! What are we going to achieve by fighting with each other over something stupid like this? It's nearly ten o'clock, I haven't done my homework yet, and I bet you guys haven't either...'

'So why's Matt starting on us, then?' Isaac interjected.

'He wasn't...' Oscar sighed. 'Were you, Matt?'

'No,' The captain shook his head. 'I didn't mean it like that. I just, well,' he stuttered. 'You know I want to win the Cup so badly... sometimes it stops me from thinking straight. That's all. Sorry,' Matthew grimaced. 'Hey,' he changed the subject abruptly. 'Who's that?' He pointed across to the edge of the Quidditch pitch, where the terracing gave way to the changing rooms.

'They better not be spying on us!' Isaac snarled, quickly mounting his broom and kicking off towards the other side of the arena with his team mates in hot pursuit. 'Hey,' the eleven-year-old called out as he neared the intruder. 'What the hell are you doing?' He skidded to a halt in front of the terracing. 'Dawlish!'

'Dawlish?' Theo repeated, stunned.

'What do _you_ want?' Isaac dropped his broom, striding towards the other boy. 'Why are you spying on us?' He glared into the Gryffindor's eyes.

'I'm not spying,' Dawlish whispered.

'So why are you here, then? Isaac pressed, gritting his teeth as his hands clenched into angry fists before grabbing the spiky-haired boy on the collar.

'Get off me!' The Gryffindor yelled.

'Just tell me what you want!' Isaac shook the other boy furiously, jarring his back against the terrace railings.

'Get the hell off of me first, alright!' Dawlish pushed the Slytherin away from himself, back into the grasp of Greg and Theo.

'Why,' Greg asked as he caught his friend by the arm, 'do Gryffindors all swear so much?'

Oscar laughed. 'Cause you _never_ swear, do you Greg?'

'Not as much as them,' the eleven-year-old defended himself. He stepped forward, leaving Theo to hold on to Isaac. 'Dawlish?' The Slytherin offered, holding his hands up in the air. 'What do you want?'

The other boy stared, wordlessly, back at him for a long moment before stuttering an answer. 'I just wanted to talk.'

'Talk?' Greg echoed, disbelievingly.

Dawlish nodded.

'What about?'

'You know,' the Gryffindor answered, glumly. 'Everything that happened today.'

Greg's voice stayed level. 'The Hunt?'

'Yeah,' he swallowed, 'and Holly.'

'Why us, though?'

Dawlish sighed. 'Cause...' he shook his head, and his voice dropped. 'Look,' he offered, 'you know what happened at breakfast. It's just been a really crap day...'

Oscar smirked in the background, but Greg ignored him as he spoke again. 'So what? Why weren't you at Herbology?'

'I went back to bed,' the Gryffindor murmured. 'Well, I tried to. I never got any decent sleep last night,' his words started to slur into one another.

'Too hot?'

Dawlish didn't argue.

'So why are you out here, then?' Greg pressed. 'Cause to us, it still looks like you're spying.'

'I'm not, _honest_ ,' Dawlish ran his hand over his head, upsetting the tangle of spikes on top. 'Aidan told me I should talk to you...' he swallowed.

'Fine,' Greg waited for the other boy to continue. 'So what do you want to talk about?'

The Gryffindor shook his head, stumbling backwards onto the concrete terrace beneath his feet, and Greg quickly made to jump over the barrier to join the other first-year.

'Careful,' Matthew warned.

'I'm alright,' Greg called back, squatting down as he did so. 'Spencer,' he lowered his voice.

'Aidan said you'd get it...' The Gryffindor stuttered, turning his head away.

'Spencer?' Greg's own voice faltered, and he looked back at the other boys. 'Can you give him some space?'

Lucas nodded. 'We'll wait in the changers,' he suggested.

'I'm staying,' Theo insisted.

'Fine,' Greg decided not to argue with his best friend, before turning back to the other first-year's slumped body as his team mates filtered slowly into the changing rooms.

'Spencer...' the Slytherin tried calling the other boy's name for a third time. 'Look, I want to try and help you,' he offered, 'but...'

'You're not going to,' Spencer stared at the floor despondently, 'because, because...'

'You're a tosser,' Theo put in.

The Gryffindor turned slowly, adjusting his gaze towards the other Slytherin. 'And the kid of a Death Eater.' He tried to smile, but only succeeded in stifling a thin stream of tears. 'I don't know what to do...' he coughed. 'My girlfriend's in hospital, and my best friend's being chased by _that_...'

'What about the other Gryffindors?' Theo was unimpressed. 'Why us?' He repeated his friend's question.

'I talked to Aidan,' Spencer murmured. 'He was in the common room, talking to Abercrombie, so I started to have a go at him... and he just told me to piss off.' He swallowed. 'He said I was treating Ciaran like crap and he'd had enough of it.'

'He was right,' Theo shrugged, and Greg found himself agreeing with his friend's every word. Making peace with Joshua was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Spencer Dawlish had always been the Gryffindor ringleader, at the heart of anything unpleasant that had been directed at Ciaran or the Slytherins.

'You have,' Greg backed up his housemate's opinion. 'Ever since that first Defence lesson – and before, for all I know.'

Spencer's head dropped further, as the flow of his tears quickened. 'I know,' he swallowed. 'I realised. I've got no one left except my enemies... I don't want it to be like that.'

Greg nodded slowly. 'How do we know you're telling the truth?' He asked. 'How do we know you're not just trying to trick us?'

'I'm not...' the Gryffindor gave up on his attempts to stem his tears, and wiped the bottom of his white t-shirt over his face. 'I'm not. Please...'

'Do you promise?' Greg glared, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. 'Do you swear on it? Cause if you go back and break it...'

'I promise,' Spencer held out his hand before Greg could complete his threat, and the Slytherin took it calmly. 'I won't break it. I swear.'

'I'm not going to say we're friends, because we're not,' Greg tightened his grip, fixing his eyes on the dark-haired boy's own and remembering his conversation with Joshua earlier that day. 'Maybe one day we could be, but not today, not after everything you've done. I will help you, though: we both want to find out what the Wild Hunt is after... just so long as you promise to stop treating Ciaran like that, _and_ to stand up for him if anyone else tries to carry on with it.'

'Yes,' the other boy wiped the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. 'I will. I promise.'


	24. Choices

**A/N: Thank you for the continued interest and reviews, especially to _sainlyinsain, chemicalflashes, este_ and _iron-flower_. I promise you that the play-off isn't far away, but right now there's the rather more pressing concern of a legion of spectral huntsmen to deal with.**

 _ **iron-flower**_ **\- great spot on continuity and Sprout/Longbottom! - I have gone back and checked my notes for this story and the intention is that Sprout is still around, as Deputy Headmistress as well as Head of Hufflepuff, but is only teaching Herbology to the older years. Neville is sharing the workload with the younger classes, but I don't think I ever get around to mentioning that in the text!  
**

 **Anyway, it's nearly midnight on Tuesday, 30 May, 2006, so time to get back to the storyline...**

* * *

There were only two children left in the Slytherin common room that evening as the bell of the old clock struck twelve.

'Is this your first midnight study session, Greg?' Oscar looked up from a long sheet of parchment.

'Yeah,' the first-year nodded, barely shifting his gaze from an increasingly untidy list of the properties of water plants.

Oscar let his quill drop. 'Are you coping, mate?'

'Yes.'

'Then how come the others have gone to bed?' The prefect sat up, watching the younger boy's response and sighed as the eleven-year-old could only mutter something unintelligible in reply. 'Greg, are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' the first-year snapped. 'Just let me get on with my work!'

Oscar shook his head, turning back to his own essay and listening to the scratching of his friend's quill grow ever louder until, inevitably, it snapped.

'Oh, bloody hell!' Greg threw the broken feather down on his desk.

'Greg,' Oscar warned, standing up. 'You need to stop.'

'But I'm almost done!' The younger boy protested, shrilly.

'I don't care, Greg,' the prefect ignored him, clutching for his wand inside the pocket of his pyjama shorts. 'You're going to go and sit on that sofa, now. You need a break.'

'Or what?' Greg challenged.

'Or I'll make you,' Oscar gritted his teeth.

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah,' Oscar raised his wand. 'Immobulus.' The jet of light hit Greg's chest before the first-year could even think about drawing his own wand in defence. 'Now, come on.' The prefect lifted the eleven-year-old's motionless body and carried it the short distance to the black leather of the nearest sofa. 'Greg,' he pleaded. 'I'm going to let you go now, but _please_...' he swallowed, _'_ tell me what's wrong.' He touched the wand to the sunburn on the younger boy's shoulder. 'Finite Incantatem.'

'Ossie!' The first-year stammered, coughing suddenly as he collapsed sideways onto the prefect's arm, struggling to gain control of his body as the charm wore off. 'There's nothing wrong,' he choked. 'Why...'

'Greg,' the older boy whispered gently. 'It's gone midnight. All the other first-years have gone to bed, and I know you work harder than any of them... well, Zac and Theo for sure. Yet they're done and you're just losing your temper...'

'That's not it,' Greg sniffed. 'I'm not losing my temper over it.'

'Greg,' the prefect repeated his friend's name, ruffling the first-year's untidy hair. 'You just broke your quill in half cause you were pressing so hard, and then you shouted "bloody hell" at it.' He paused. 'And you told me that you didn't swear that much.'

'I don't...' he objected, vainly, as his eyes began to fill with tears. 'I don't... I'm not...' He slumped against the older boy's arm, letting his eyelids sink shut and hiding the redness beneath. 'It... it's not just the homework,' he managed a few moments later, blinking his eyes slowly back open.

'What is it?' Oscar asked gently.

'Everything.' The eleven-year-old swallowed. 'As well as the work... our exams are coming up... Then there's the Quidditch, and all the stuff with the Wild Hunt and the Gryffindors... and people keep asking me what to do, and, and I just don't know what to tell them...' He shivered, sinking low into the black sofa.

'I remember what Matt said about you at the start of the year,' Oscar recalled, 'that you take things way too seriously.' He let his arm drop from the first-year's head onto his shoulder as the younger boy looked up at him with burning eyes. 'He said that about me, too, when I was a first-year. He was right.' The older boy sighed as he retold his memory. 'It was the first time we found out about Slytherin, and about the War. I couldn't cope; I didn't know what to do. I went off and hid in the memorial garden... Matt looked everywhere for me.'

'So that's how you knew... that time after Quidditch... that's where he would be.'

'Yes,' the prefect nodded, 'and it's how I knew you weren't alright just now. I could tell; I've felt like that, too.'

'I'm sorry,' Greg stuttered.

'What for?' Oscar smiled.

'Swearing at you,' the eleven-year-old sighed, 'and losing my temper.'

'Oh, Greg,' the older boy grinned. 'That's alright, mate. Just remember that you can _always_ talk to me, about anything,' he patted the first-year on the shoulder, before pulling his arm away.

'Thanks, Oscar,' Greg nodded, slowly.

'Matt was right about that,' the prefect reflected, 'but there was something else he was totally wrong about. He didn't want you to be in Slytherin... but look what's happened.'

'It's not just me,' the younger boy dissented.

'How many other Slytherins have made friends with Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors?'

'Not just me,' Greg repeated. 'It's the others as well. Theo and Zac and Lucas.'

'Cause of what _you_ said to them,' the prefect smiled. 'You're like Matt: you make things happen. Just remember you don't always have to do it all by yourself.'

'Thanks, Ossie,' the first-year finally managed a smile in return.

'That's alright,' the older boy grinned. 'Now go to bed, mate,' he insisted. 'I bet you'll do this Herbology in two minutes in the morning.'

'Okay,' Greg didn't argue. 'Night.'

Greg decided to skip breakfast the following morning, choosing instead to catch up on a few more minutes' sleep before heading up towards the Charms classroom. When he arrived, the Hufflepuff boys were already waiting.

'Hey, Greg,' Glyn greeted him, brightly. 'You alright?'

'Yeah, I guess so,' The Slytherin shrugged, as he remembered his conversation with Oscar the previous evening. 'You?'

'Yes,' the Welsh boy grinned, before bursting in to a question that Greg could tell he had been desperate to ask. 'You know I said about Tregeagle talking in Welsh yesterday?'

The blond boy nodded, leaving his friend to continue his revelation.

'Well, I sent our owl to my Dad yesterday after school, asking whether he knew anything about Old Welsh magic, and he wrote back this morning!' Glyn reached down into his school bag to pull out a sheet of parchment.

'Cool,' Greg smiled, immediately feeling livelier. 'Me and Lukie went to the library yesterday, but we didn't find anything useful.'

Glyn listened as he smoothed out the creased parchment against the stone wall of the corridor. 'Here it is,' he held up the letter for the other boy to begin reading.

 _Dear Glyn,_

 _It's lovely to hear from you, son. I'm glad you guys are all settling in back at school. You know I've never been into my Quidditch, but I can tell that you are as happy about Slytherin's win as you have ever been with the Harpies. I am so proud of the way you have chosen – and stood up for – your friends this year._

Greg blinked, looking from the handwritten script of the letter to his friend's face as the Welsh boy blushed. The Slytherin smiled, nudging the other boy gently on the elbow before turning back to the letter.

 _It's interesting you should ask about Old Magic. As you well know, you're named after Owain Glyndwr, leader of the Free Welsh 600 years ago. Glyndwr claimed to be a descendent of several of the old princely families of the Welsh kingdoms, which was one of the things that helped him to unify the whole country behind his banner._

 _We don't have many books about Glyndwr's time... very few people could read, and even fewer could write. Stories were told as songs, passed down by generations of bards and poets. There are many tales, dating back to the Normans, Vikings, Saxons and beyond, that talk of magic. I know that even your muggle-born friends will know of Merlin and Arthur: their stories were told by Welsh bards more than 1000 years ago, long before Geoffrey of Monmouth created the modern lie._

 _I have tried to find out bits and pieces about Old Magic here and there – it is so much a part of Snowdonia that it is impossible to ignore – but I have never found anything concrete: any spells, potions or charms that could stand the test of time. Perhaps it is just as well; I have heard it said that the Old Welsh magic is much deeper, and more powerful, than the formal magic we use today. I have heard it called "Elemental Magic" – drawing on the primitive forces of earth, air, fire and water – plus, too often, human blood and sacrifice. It is as dangerous as it is fascinating, my son, and whilst your interest is only to be expected as a proud Welshman, I must ask you to be careful. I do not think anyone knows the true extent of its power._

 _I hope that you're enjoying this sunshine, if it has reached as far north as Hogwarts, of course, but not letting it distract you from the exams you've got coming up. Mum and Iestyn send their love. Well, I'm sure Iestyn would do, but I can't get him off that broomstick! He's convinced he's going to be on his House team when he gets to Hogwarts..._

 _See you soon,_

 _Dad_

 _x x x_

Greg swallowed, digesting the information in Aneurin Jones' letter as he re-read the penultimate paragraph. 'Your Dad says it's more powerful than formal magic,' he commented. 'Maybe that's why Tregeagle was trying to use it.'

The Welsh boy nodded. 'Maybe,' he echoed in a quiet voice. 'I wish I knew more, though,' he admitted. 'It's my country, my history... but I hardly know anything about it, and everyone else will expect me to.'

'It's okay, mate,' Greg reassured his friend as Oscar's advice repeated inside his head. 'Nobody can do anything on their own. You know we'll always help if you need us.'

'Thanks,' the Hufflepuff smiled.

'I found some things out yesterday, as well,' the Slytherin added after a moment's thought, before relating his meetings with the Gryffindor boys. 'They're scared...'

Glyn bit his bottom lip as he replied. 'I would be, if I was them.'

'I think _I'm_ scared, too.' Greg shivered. 'I said I'd help them, but I don't really know if I can.'

'What else could you do?' The Welsh boy asked, as he folded his father's letter back into his school bag. 'Just leave them to it?'

Greg shook his head. 'No,' he insisted. 'That's what the Slytherins did at the Battle of Hogwarts, and I am _not_ like them!'

'I know you're not,' Glyn reassured his friend. 'So what are we going to do, then?

'We?' The blond boy asked, checking that he had heard properly.

'Yes,' the Hufflepuff answered. 'You just said you can't do things on your own. Whatever it is, I'm in it with you.'

Greg noticed a fierce glare of determination in the other boy's eyes as he spoke. 'Thanks, mate. That means a lot,' he smiled.

'Alright,' Glyn returned his friend's smile. 'So what are we going to do?' He repeated his question.

The Slytherin hesitated, deep in thought, before suggesting an idea. 'I suppose we all need to get together,' he reasoned. 'All the houses. Everyone who wants to help.'

'Where, though?'

'The dungeon, I guess,' Greg sighed. 'Where else could we go without people interrupting us?'

'How about one of the empty classrooms?' Glyn suggested, but his friend shook his head.

'What if a prefect walks in? Or, even worse, one of the teachers? You heard what McGonagall said...'

'Won't Slughorn come to the dungeons?'

Greg laughed. 'What, you mean leaving his comfy chambers to bother us? We haven't seen him _all year._ No, the only one we've got to worry about is Lukie's brother... but I think Matt and Ossie have got enough to deal with him.'

'Okay,' the Welsh boy agreed. 'Tonight?'

Greg nodded. 'We might as well.'

Seven first-year boys – four Gryffindor and three Hufflepuff – gathered in the entrance hall that evening, about an hour after supper had finished.

'I don't see why we didn't just go down straight after we'd eaten,' Aidan Mills commented, to nobody in particular.

'Because,' Glyn snapped around, glaring at the Gryffindor boy, 'then _everyone_ would have seen.'

'Alright, alright,' Aidan held his hands up in apology. 'Don't bite my head off about it.'

The Welsh boy's glare hardly softened as he looked from the brown-haired boy to his housemates. 'Don't try anything funny,' he warned.

'We weren't going to,' Aidan protested. 'You know what's been going on; you know things have changed.'

'Leave it, Glyn,' Jai whispered in his friend's ear, pulling the other Hufflepuff away. 'Greg will be here soon.'

'Hey, guys,' the Slytherin arrived moments later, turning to greet the Hufflepuffs first. 'You know the way, right? I'll bring up the rear.' Greg watched his friends lead on, before settling behind the four Gryffindors as the boys wound their way down to the dungeons. 'Okay, Ciaran?' He noticed the sandy-haired boy had drifted back from his housemates. 'Did you have a good day?'

'Yeah,' the Gryffindor nodded, tentatively. 'We had double Potions this morning. Slughorn said my forgetfulness potion was unforgettable!' He smiled, and Greg couldn't help but laugh at the professor's weak joke.

'Well done, mate,' the blond boy grinned, before lowering his voice as he asked the next question. 'Are they giving you any more trouble?' He nodded towards the other Gryffindors.

'No,' Ciaran shook his head decisively. 'Aidan sits next to me sometimes.'

Greg noticed the happiness in the other boy's response, and bit back a comment questioning how things had ever reached the stage where something so simple was so important to him. 'What about the others?' He tried to sound casual. 'Josh and Dawlish?'

'Fine,' Ciaran shrugged. 'They don't really talk to me, but that's better, much better... and besides,' he tailed off, 'they barely talk to anyone any more...'

Greg winced as he heard his friend's honesty. 'It must be tough being Josh right now.'

Ciaran didn't argue, but there was little time for the boys to continue their conversation as the low doorway of the Slytherin common room came into view.

'Is that everyone?' Oscar spoke up as Greg let the door swing shut behind him moments later. 'Great,' he stood up in front of one of the sofas that had been pulled into a circle beside the fireplace, before giving the last arrivals the chance to find their places in the ring.

'You don't have to be here...' Greg began to protest, but Oscar talked right over him.

'Well, I think I do,' the fourth-year's riposte was matter-of-fact in its tone, 'for lots of reasons. One, this is my common room, I'm a prefect, and I want to keep an eye on it. Two, you guys are our Quidditch team and I'm not letting anything happen to you. Three, you might need someone who can actually do more magic than a first-year, and four, I'm a Slytherin, I want to know what the bloody hell's going on, and this is the best way to find out. So you're stuck with me... and Matt.' He indicated the other fourth-year, who wore a wide grin as he digested his friend's words. 'I guess it's over to you then, Greg,' Oscar smiled. 'I take it you're in charge...?'

Greg looked around the circle for a moment, as the other twelve pairs of eyes locked onto his own. 'Well...' he recalled the prefect's words the night before, slowly getting to his feet. 'We need to decide what we're going to do,' he announced, hating the shakiness he could hear in his own voice. 'We all want to work out what's going on... what the Wild Hunt want, and when they're going to come back.' He sat back down, feeling his own cheeks flush as the others' gazes remained fixed on him.

'How do we know we can trust them?' Glyn spoke up, breaking the silence that had followed Greg's opening speech.

'The Gryffindors?' Isaac was the first for whom curiosity defied caution.

'No, who do you think?' Joshua Tregeagle snapped, before glowering back at the Welsh boy. 'Don't you think it's real, then?' He raised his voice. 'Do you think we made the Wild Hunt up? What was it that came after my Dad, then?'

'I didn't say that,' Glyn refused to be cowed by the other boy's straw-man argument. 'We know it's real,' he swallowed. 'I just wanna know why you want to work with the _Loser House_.'

Joshua had opened his mouth to argue again when he was silenced by a dig in the ribs from Spencer. 'Don't, Josh,' he pleaded, simply.

'Thank you, Spencer,' Greg heard himself start talking before he had consciously realised he was going to do so. 'We all want the same thing,' he observed, 'shouldn't that be enough for us to work together?

'I think so,' the blond Slytherin was delighted to hear Aidan's voice supporting him. 'What's the point in arguing about it?'

'Glyn?' Greg turned back to his friend. 'Happy?'

The Hufflepuff nodded, slowly. 'I guess so,' he muttered, 'but if any of them try...'

Greg cut the Welsh boy off mid-threat. 'I know, mate,' he pacified. 'I've told them. They know. They won't try anything.' He tried to force a smile. 'How about you tell everyone what you've found out about Welsh magic?'

'It's not much,' Glyn protested.

'It's more than the rest of us know.'

The Hufflepuff groaned, before slowly starting to share the information his father had sent him. 'Welsh magic,' he began, 'is really old magic. Much older than Hogwarts. My Dad has been trying to find out more about it for years.'

Glyn looked around the circle as the other boys' eyes turned to focus on him, noticing a thin smile of encouragement on Greg's lips before continuing. 'Dad says it's elemental magic, much more powerful than the magic we learn here.'

'What's elemental magic?' Theo was the first of the boys to ask, though several of them had looked to one another in confusion as they heard the phrase.

'Is it like the old elements?' Lucas suggested. 'Earth, air, fire and water?'

Glyn nodded. 'I think so,' he bit his bottom lip, knowing what he would have to say next, and dreading the sound of the words. 'Them... and blood.' He shrunk back into the leather sofa as the common room dissolved into scattered conversation around him.

'Glyn,' Joshua's face had obviously paled as he shuffled forwards to address the Hufflepuff. 'What do you mean, blood?'

The Welsh boy blinked, steeling himself to meet the Gryffindor's eyes before he murmured his answer. 'Human sacrifice.'

Joshua's head fell forward into his hands as he whispered a swear word into his palms.

'Sacrifice?' Now it was Aidan's turn to let his voice echo against the marble walls. 'Are you sure?'

'It's what my Dad said,' Glyn muttered. 'That's all... I don't know anything else.'

'I think it started with the druids,' Lucas broke the silence. 'They were like ancient priests for their tribes, when wizards and muggles lived together.'

'They started _human_ sacrifice?' Aidan repeated.

'It probably wasn't just them,' Oscar interrupted. 'Muggles did it as well, all over the world: in Africa, South America, the Pacific Islands...'

'Why?' Isaac questioned sharply, and the prefect could only shrug in reply.

'I don't know,' he shook his head. 'I guess it was some kind of ritual,' he offered, tamely.

'Tregeagle never said anything about that at breakfast, though!' Glyn's voice grew indignant. 'Just because he spoke Welsh doesn't mean he was planning a sacrifice!'

'No one said that, Glyn.' Greg tried to take back control of the meeting. 'None of us speak Welsh, though. None of us could tell what he said.'

'He said _nothing_ about sacrifice,' the Hufflepuff repeated. 'He said "no hunters", then "a month, two weeks, one week..." That was all.'

'Then they vanished after he said "one week", right?' Greg recalled. 'So do you they'll be back next Tuesday?'

'They could be,' Glyn had to admit, 'and they'll be after him again, won't they?'

'That's my Dad you're talking about!' Joshua's head snapped up from his hands, as he glowered, red-eyed, across the common room.

'Yeah, we know it is,' Isaac leapt to the defence of his housemate. 'It was him who was keeping the Hunt locked up in his classroom. It's him who they're after because of what Jan Tregeagle did...'

The Gryffindor tensed to argue back, only for Spencer Dawlish to tug at the shoulder of his housemate's shirt. 'Josh, please,' he begged. 'It's true. It's not their fault...'

Joshua shivered as he heard his friend's words, his eyes immediately beginning to water as his head collapsed back into his hands. 'I don't know what to do...' he struggled. 'Dad won't even talk to me about it. He just says it's his business and nothing to do with me...'

The room fell quiet, but for the stifled sobs of the teacher's son, as the other children glanced uncomfortably from one nervous face to another.

'Joshua,' Greg could stand the silence no longer, and he stood up to shuffle slowly across and squat alongside the Gryffindor. 'We want to help,' he offered, gently, only for his voice to turn colder as he continued, 'but you've got to let us. We won't get anywhere if you keep accusing people of things they haven't done.'

'But they were...' Joshua's head jerked up again, only for Greg to quickly talk over him.

'Just like that!' Greg shook his head. 'We learnt a long time ago that we wouldn't get anywhere on our own... not when the other Houses couldn't stand us, and everyone we met thought we were just Death Eaters in training.' He took a breath. 'We decided that _Slytherins stick together_ : no matter what, we were going to help each other out.'

'What's the point...?' Joshua struggled to keep eye contact with the Slytherin. 'They're going to take my Dad, and don't say they're not, because it's true! You know it, I know it, _everyone_ knows it!'

'Things don't always happen like you think they're going to, Josh,' Greg's voice didn't waver. 'No one thought muggle-borns could end up in Slytherin. No one thought we had a chance of winning a single Quidditch match, never mind getting to a playoff for the Cup! You never know unless you try, and you'll _never_ know if you just give up! The Wild Hunt can't be invincible. Now come on, we've got enough books, let's go and find out how we can beat them!'

'It's hopeless...' Joshua's spirits had flagged further as the evening drew onwards without any sign of fresh information that could offer him any new hope. Lucas had found a story from English legend about a farmer defeating the Hunt in a tug-of-war by tying his end of the rope to an oak tree, but none of the boys could believe that something so simple could save Professor Tregeagle: not with the Huntsmen in the room with him, at any rate.

'It's not,' Greg begun to argue, but the Gryffindor cut him off before he could utter any more.

'It is!' Joshua snapped. 'There's these little tricks that one person might be able to pull, one person that the Hunt caught by accident, but no one ever escaped the Hunt when they went after him.'

'Tregeagle did,' Isaac countered. 'We never found out what happened to him, the original Tregeagle... and someone must have caught them to get them trapped in your Dad's classroom.'

'Maybe...' the other boy was forced to admit, 'but that's not beating them for real, though, is it? It's just hiding, running away and hiding like a coward.'

'Why fight when you know you can't win?' Oscar wasn't prepared to risk the conversation heading towards House rivalry. 'Whoever trapped the Hunt must have been a brilliant wizard, Josh, if it had never been done before.'

'I bet they were a Tregeagle, too,' Greg added. 'Who else would have taken the Hunt on to save Jan's soul?'

'I know what you're trying to do, Greg,' Joshua spoke slowly, turning to face the Slytherin. 'I know you're trying to help, and I really appreciate it... but it's just no good,' he sighed. 'It's coming back, I know it, and there's nothing we can do about it.' He looked around the common room. 'Come on, Spencer,' he muttered. 'Let's go back to the tower.'

Greg watched, wordlessly, as the two Gryffindors headed for the dungeon door, letting his own head drop as the marble wall sealed itself behind the boys.

'It's not your fault, Greg,' the first-year barely heard Theo's voice rise out of the silence as he slipped backwards into the folds of the leather sofa, his eyes sliding shut as his world slipped into darkness.


	25. Sunset

'Do you think we should try and wake him?'

'Or take him to the hospital wing?'

'Have you got any revitalising draughts, Zac? Maybe we should give him one of those?'

'He'll wake up, just give him a bit longer.'

'I'm up...' Greg groaned as the cluster of boys' voices echoed inside his mind. He blinked twice, slowly drifting back into consciousness and noticing that he was now lying in his familiar four-poster bed, its curtains drawn around him. 'What time is it...?' He grasped for the end of the fraying cord that would pull back the green drapes.

'Just after 11, mate,' Theo smiled as his friend's face emerged. 'Good morning.'

'I missed lessons!' Greg shot upright, snatching for his wand, only for Oscar and Matthew's older arms to block his way and ease him back down onto his mattress.

'Greg,' the prefect counselled, 'you're still in the same things you were wearing last night.'

'Am I...?' the first-year blustered, looking down to see his creased clothes and realising that the older boy was telling the truth. 'What happened? Why didn't you wake me up?' He grabbed at Matthew's arms as his neighbour held him down.

'You only missed Muggle Studies, Greg,' Oscar reassured his friend, 'and what were you going to learn from that which you didn't know anyway already?' He lowered his voice as the younger boy's hurried breathing steadied. 'You pretty much passed out last night, mate – after the Gryffindors left. We tried to wake you up, but we couldn't, so we just carried you down here.'

'We figured it didn't matter if you missed Muggle Studies,' Theo completed Oscar's story, 'so we left you to sleep some more, and then we came back just now to check on you before Potions...'

Greg smiled slowly, taking in his friends' words. 'Thanks,' he swallowed, peering past the prefect to the other gathered boys, 'all of you.'

'Do you think you can make it to lessons?' Lucas asked, cautiously.

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, 'I guess I've got to.' He felt Matthew's grip on his forearms loosen as he edged upwards. 'I think I'm gonna need a shower first, though...'

'Greg!' Glyn's excited shout greeted the Slytherins shortly afterwards, as they arrived outside Slughorn's classroom. 'You're alright!'

'Yeah,' the blond boy had little choice but to answer in the affirmative.

'I'm sorry we didn't come and see you this morning,' Glyn raced into an apology. 'We had lessons, and we couldn't get into your dungeon without knowing the password, and...'

'Glyn,' Greg held his hand up. 'It's okay, mate. Don't worry about it.' He smiled, thinly. 'I'm fine.'

'Did any of you see the Gryffindors this morning?' Theo changed the subject abruptly. 'Didn't you have lessons with them?'

'Yeah, Muggle Studies,' Jai answered. 'Dull as,' he remarked. 'No one said anything.'

'They wouldn't even talk to Maria,' Cameron added. 'She's the seventh-year who takes us,' he explained.

'I know,' Theo nodded, 'she takes us too.'

'I didn't hear Joshua say a word all lesson,' Glyn shook his head, 'it's like he's given up.'

'Wouldn't you?' Lucas asked. 'After everything that's happened to him?'

'Students!' Professor Slughorn's low voice echoed across the corridor outside the Potions room. 'Inside, if you please!'

'I wouldn't,' Greg whispered, as he followed Lucas inside. 'I wouldn't, because I know you guys wouldn't give up on me.'

'Well, then,' the teacher intoned, 'everyone in their seats, please.' He strode, lumbering, towards his chalkboard. 'Not long until your exams, now,' Slughorn continued, 'and I'm sure you'll want to be ready when they come along.'

The class sighed as one at their professor's mention of the topic. Isaac glanced at Theo, and the blond-haired boy, no more taken by the prospect of any revision than his friend, smiled as he lifted his hand. 'Sir,' he offered. 'Do you know anything about the Four Elements? Earth, air, fire and water?'

A hushed wave of chatter spread across the classroom as the children, whether or not they knew of the motivation behind Theo's question, waited on the professor's response.

'Mr Forrest,' the room fell silent as Slughorn began to reply. 'May I ask what your question has to do with Potions?'

'Sir,' Isaac raised his own hand. 'We've been reading,' Greg turned a chuckle into a cough as he heard his friend's lie. 'I read that there were different kinds of potions,' he improvised, 'and they all match one of the elements.'

The corners of Slughorn's mouth turned slowly upwards, and the professor's stare twitched into a smile. 'Indeed, you are correct,' he proclaimed. 'Five points to Slytherin!'

Greg struggled to keep his mouth from falling open as he watched Isaac similarly trying to contain a smirk.

'The Four Elements,' Slughorn announced, 'have been part of potion lore for as long as anyone can remember. It was clear to the earliest brewers that their affinity for their concoctions was not uniform. Some had talent for cures and salves, others for transformation, and others still for destruction or creation. It is no coincidence that the four founders of Hogwarts followed the Four Elements: Gryffindor fire, Slytherin water, Hufflepuff earth and Ravenclaw air.'

'So are the students in each House better at potions that fit that element? Greg followed his housemate's lead as he thought on his feet. 'Are we better at water potions?'

'Not necessarily,' Slughorn shook his head. 'It is a good question, though, and over the years I suppose that you would be generally correct. I do think that the Hat must take your affinity into some account, but there is more to the sorting than just this one question. Indeed, if the Hat can sort you, a muggle-born, into Slytherin then who are we to ask how its mind works?'

'Is it just in potions?' Lucas joined in. 'What about other magic, like jinxes and hexes? Can the elements affect them, too?'

'Certainly, Mr Brand,' the professor agreed. 'Everyone will have their own strengths and weaknesses, and more often than not you will find they are linked to one of the elements.'

'What about... blood?' Glyn was sure that his question would be greeted by a sharp intake of breath, and he was not about to be proven wrong.

'Mr Jones,' there was no need for the Potions Master's voice to rise over the hushed room. 'It is not for me to speak of the magic of blood. Nothing has caused more innocent deaths in the wizarding world than our fixation with blood.'

'But...' Glyn wasn't entirely distracted, 'didn't Harry Potter survive because of his blood?'

Slughorn paused, staring long and hard at the twelve-year-old before forming his answer. 'His blood had something to do with it,' the professor spoke slowly and thoughtfully, 'and better wizards than I never fully understood the full reasons why. Now,' he sighed, 'none of this will be on the exam, so let us turn our attention to something that may well be: the forgetfulness potion. Just make sure you don't take any of it beforehand...'

The boys had no reason to doubt Glyn's gloomy interpretation of Joshua's mood in the days that followed, and as Quidditch practice fought for time with exam revision, their own optimism for Tregeagle's fate seemed to diminish as well. Any research that they did find the time to do only drew the same blanks, and it was with a deep sense of dread and foreboding that they sat on their respective breakfast tables the following Tuesday, waiting for the inevitable; waiting for something that never arrived.

'Why didn't the Hunt come back?' Isaac demanded as he set eyes on Neal Kennedy at the beginning of the second period.

'Isaac,' the seventh-year warned as the boy stood up, holding his glare.

'What?' The eleven-year-old snapped back.

'What?' Neal echoed the first-year's words. 'What do you mean, what?'

'Leave it,' Greg tugged on the sleeve of his friend's robes. 'Just sit down, Zac.'

'Don't you want to know what's going on?'

'Yes,' the other boy hissed, 'but how is acting like _that_ going to help?'

Isaac sighed. 'You're right, I guess.'

'Thank you, Greg,' Neal had noticed the blond boy's intervention. 'I have my theories, as I am sure you do, too.'

'So you don't know, then?' A voice interrupted from the back of the classroom, and as the Slytherin boys turned around they quickly identified the speaker as Megan, the girl who had provoked Joshua the previous week.

The Ravenclaw raised his eyebrows. 'Anyone who tells you they know the workings of such ancient magic is almost certainly a liar.'

'So you don't know,' the girl repeated her empty assertion. 'You're teaching us about it, and you don't know yourself!'

'Shut up, Megan!' Aidan Mills stood up, his eyes flashing angrily. 'Let's hear what you think, if you're so clever.'

Megan narrowed her eyes, glaring back at the other Gryffindor. 'Maybe it's not coming back? Maybe it's just part of our exams, and it's a trick to see how we all cope?'

'Are you calling my Dad a liar?' Joshua snapped, standing up himself as he turned around to face down the black-haired girl.

Megan shrugged. 'Maybe I am.'

'How dare you?' Joshua trembled, snatching his wand from the pocket of his robes. 'You don't know anything... _anything_ that's happened outside these classrooms...' He jabbed his wand towards Megan, who shrunk back in her chair.

'Josh...' Neal reached for his own wand. 'Not here. Not now.'

The Gryffindor boy spun around, his wand arm shaking. 'Why not?' He tensed, steeling his eyes to remain dry. 'You know she's lying!'

'I do, but this isn't the way...' The seventh-year's words were cut off as a sudden flurry of light split the classroom.

'Flipendo!'

'Protego!'

'Expelliarmus!'

'Stupefy!'

'First-years...' Neal stammered, his wand arm dropping to his side as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Several boys were on their feet, their wands poised, and Megan lay, stunned and disarmed, on the floor at the back of the classroom. 'Explain yourselves!'

'She started it,' Greg mumbled, swallowing as he looked up to meet the Ravenclaw's stare. 'She cast Flipendo at Josh,' he explained, 'but Ciaran spotted it; it was his Protego...'

The sandy-haired boy blushed scarlet. 'I can sort of tell when someone's going to cast a jinx.'

'I can imagine,' Neal nodded, 'but that doesn't explain why Megan has been knocked out.'

'That was my fault,' Spencer Dawlish volunteered. 'One of the others cast Expelliarmus, but I'd already started the stunner and I couldn't stop.'

'That was me,' Isaac owned up. 'She deserved it, anyway,' he declared.

'That doesn't make it acceptable to attack another student,' the seventh-year strode over to Megan's unconscious body. ' _Enervate_. Now,' his voice dropped, 'you all have two choices. One, you can stay here, and we can try to get to the bottom of this, or two, you can clear off and suit yourselves. Anyone who chooses to stay, and then questions the integrity of another student or a member of staff, will be punished as severely as the school rules allow.'

Megan swallowed gormlessly. 'He cursed me!'

'It was a stunner, Miss Campbell, not a curse,' Neal grimaced, 'and let me assure you that Mr Dawlish will be appropriately dealt with.'

'Good,' the girl got to her feet. 'How many points will it be?'

'Ten,' the Ravenclaw answered, flatly. 'Now, are you going, or staying?'

'You'll be lucky if you ever see me again,' she turned on her heel and strutted to the classroom's back door, with a fawning group of her friends following in her wake.

'Ten points...?' Aidan gasped as the door slammed shut, leaving the boys on their own inside the classroom.

'Ten points _to_ each of you who stood up for him against that, that...' Neal stuttered.

'The word you want is bitch,' Isaac supplied, mischievously, as the other first-years choked back their laughter.

The seventh-year smiled. 'You might want to put it that way. I couldn't possibly comment.' He walked back the length of the classroom, sitting down on the front of his desk as the children slipped back into their seats. 'Joshua,' he began, 'I hope you realise how lucky you are to have people stand up for you like that; even people who aren't necessarily your friends...'

The Gryffindor's pale cheeks reddened beneath his freckles. 'I know,' he looked around the room, 'but you're wrong,' he swallowed. 'They _are_ my friends.'

Neal gave the first-years a moment to react to Joshua's admission, before he begun again. 'My theory,' he paused, allowing the boys' concentration to drift back towards the front of the room, 'is that Welsh Magic, like the old Elements, is set ever so deeply within nature. Any spells that are cast with it must therefore obey the cycles of nature, and rise and fall with the sun and moon.'

The boys stared back at him, open-mouthed, until Lucas ventured an interpretation of the Ravenclaw's words.

'So, what you're saying...' he took a deep breath, 'is that they'll come back at sunset.'

The older boy nodded. 'That's what I think.'

The first-years had needed no persuading to seek out a vantage point that evening to test Neal's theory. The only argument had been the exact location of their hideout, but once Jai reminded the others that the school kitchens, located right beside the Hufflepuff common room, possessed a transparent ceiling, agreement was quick in coming. As the clock struck ten, the thirteen students who had met in the Slytherin common room the week before waited, alongside the Ravenclaw seventh-years Neal Kennedy and Ed Williams, for the final rays of June sunshine to slip away.

'Looks like the teachers all think the same thing,' Ed observed, pointing out the gathered staff members at the head table.

'Aurors too,' the other Ravenclaw agreed. 'One at each end. Look at the robes.'

'They're coming,' Joshua whispered. 'I know. I can feel it. Bloody hell...' He shook his head, as the walls of the kitchen and the Great Hall above began to reverberate to the gusting winds that all the boys knew surrounded the onrushing Wild Hunt.

'Protego!' The teachers chorused, aiming their wands outwards as the spectral form of the Hunt splintered the deadlocked doors. 'Protego Duo!' The translucent spheres of the shields pulsed outwards from the staff table, but neither spell had any effect on the waiting Huntsmen, who drew to a halt behind their leader in the middle of the hall.

'Tregeagle,' the Head of the Hunt implored, his voice resounding across the vast chamber. 'Your arcane magic has held us off for a week, but now we come to claim what is rightfully ours.'

'Very well,' the Defence professor took two paces forward, before levelling his wand at the lead Huntsman. 'Avada Kedavra!' A jet of green light shot unerringly towards the spirit's head, before passing harmlessly through and shattering on the stone buttress of the furthest wall.

'Your wand's magic is useless here, Tregeagle,' the pitch of the ghost's voice didn't change. 'We are above these little games. Now,' his voice lowered, 'come with us and no others shall come to any harm.'

'What about the girl?'

'She will be free.'

Professor Tregeagle let his wand slip back into the pocket of his robes, turning his head back to the staff table for a moment. 'Goodbye, Minerva,' his voice dropped, and the boys gathered in the kitchens could barely make out the teacher's farewell. 'Look after him.'

Nobody said a word, above or below the Great Hall's enchanted floor, as Tregeagle made his unblinking way along the hall's central aisle, into the clutches of the Wild Hunt.

'DAD!' Joshua's anguished yell split the silence that had filled the room beneath. 'NO!' He vaulted upwards, evading the panicked grasps of his friends, and made hurriedly for the kitchen door.

'Josh!'

'You can't!'

'Come back!'

Aidan was on his feet in an instant. 'Come on, then!' He yelled back over his shoulder, making to follow his housemate out of the room. 'We can't just leave him!'

Glyn and Theo were the first to react to their fellow first-year's appeal for help, rushing to follow Aidan's footsteps before the other students followed suit.

'Gryffindors...' Oscar muttered under his breath, shaking his head. 'Always the same.'

The fourth-year's sarcasm was far away from the younger boys' minds, however, with the chasers bearing down on Joshua as the boy approached the entrance to the Great Hall.

'DAD...' he yelled, just as Theo caught him in the jarring crush of a hard rugby tackle, sending him crashing to the cold stone floor as the two boys slid into the legs of the Hufflepuff House table. 'Theo!' Joshua snapped, struggling to prise the Slytherin away, and noticing his own blood spilling from a cut on his left hand. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'I'm trying,' the blond boy hissed, tightening his grip, 'to save your life! Leave it, there's nothing you can do...'

'No!' Joshua shouted back, clenching his left fist to strike Theo across the bridge of the nose and mix the other boy's blood with his own.

'Ow! Josh!' Theo recoiled.

'I'm not leaving him here for _them_!' The Gryffindor's eyes burned red as rivulets of tears began to flow down his cheeks. 'I _can't..._ '

'Well, I'm not letting them see you,' Theo remained adamant, grabbing at the Gryffindor's wrists. 'They'll kill you if they do!'

'I think it's too late for that.' Glyn's hollow warning jerked the scuffling boys back into the present, and they looked up to see the figure of the lead Huntsman no more than a few feet away.

Joshua swore badly, bolting upright, but Theo was alert enough to keep his grip on the other boy's robes, and shepherd him to the side of the Hall, before standing guard between the Gryffindor and the Hunt.

'Fresh Tregeagle blood,' the Huntsman droned, his ghostly eyes beginning to glow an ethereal white as he glided towards the two first-years. 'Your father did well to keep you from us, but your blood cannot hide your identity. Stand aside,' he ordered, turning his gaze to Theo, 'and allow us our rightful prey.'

'N... no...' the blond boy stammered, shaking as he willed himself not to cry.

'Theo,' Greg whispered, turning his head away and hiding his eyes in the folds of Oscar's robes. 'Why...' he choked. 'That's not Slytherin...'

'It's not _old_ Slytherin,' Oscar held his hand on his friend's head, as he felt the eleven-year-old beginning to sob. 'We're not old Slytherin any more.'

'Have it your way,' the lead Huntsman was unmoved. 'Tregeagle's blood shall be ours.'

'Wait!' Glyn stepped forwards. 'He has the blood of Tregeagle, but I have the blood of Glyndwr!' He lifted a sharp knife from the Hufflepuff table, and with his teeth gritted, scored a thin line along his left palm. 'Blood of earth,' he joined Theo and Joshua, placing his hand against the Gryffindor boy's own. 'Blood of fire. Blood of water.'

Neal Kennedy understood. 'Blood of air.' He followed the Welsh boy's example, cutting his own palm and doing the same to Theo as the blond boy offered his hand.

'Earth, air, fire, water,' Glyn repeated, turning to face the Huntsmen, and making certain that the bond of blood never slipped. 'Four elements united by the heir of Glyndwr, himself the heir of Merlin. Hunters, cross the bloodline if you dare.'

Greg lifted his head from Oscar's robes, staring as the twelve-year-old Hufflepuff and the ancient Huntsman stared one another down.

'What's he doing?' The prefect whispered. 'Did he mention any of this to you...?'

The first-year shook his head. 'No... I don't know...' He swallowed. 'What's happening?' Greg's mouth fell open as he watched the Huntsmen hesitate, before the mass of spectres began to fold back in on one another, shrinking away before the boys' eyes. It was as if there was an immense vacuum pulling everything closer, glowing ever brighter like an inverted black hole, before the might of the Hunt faded with one final blast of white light.

'Dad!' Joshua called again, sprinting free of the other students only to fall to his knees beside his father's body, reaching his bloody hand onto the man's face. 'Dad!'

'It's too late, Joshua.' Professor McGonagall had advanced steadily down the aisle to stand behind the distraught twelve-year-old. 'There's nothing you can do.'

'There must be!' The boy blushed, unbothered by the fresh tears that rimmed his eyes. 'No one thought the Hunt could be beaten, but look what happened! Glyn,' he snatched for breath, looking across as the Hufflepuff knelt opposite him. 'You believe me, don't you?'

'Blood of earth,' Glyn didn't answer the Gryffindor's question, but instead held his injured palm to the teacher's forehead.

'Blood of fire,' Joshua copied the other first-year, as he noticed Theo and Neal joining him.

'Blood of water.'

'Blood of air.'

Joshua shut his eyes. 'Please let this work. Please, Dad. Please don't leave me...' He slumped forwards, letting his ear fall onto his father's chest. 'He's breathing!' Joshua jumped upwards. 'Professor, he's breathing! I told you, I told you!'

'Poppy!' McGonagall called the school nurse, who, with an auror at either side, hurried from her post at the top table to join the impromptu meeting in the middle of the hall. 'Is it true? Is he breathing?'

Poppy Pomfrey knelt down, filling the space that Joshua had vacated in his excitement, and smartly examined the fallen professor's body before returning to her feet. 'He is... and there is a pulse.'

McGonagall nodded. 'You know what to do.'

With a neat flick of her wrist, the nurse lifted Tregeagle's body from the floor and, with the aurors still in tow, headed for the hospital wing.

'As for you,' the Headmistress pursed her lips, turning to the gaggle of students who stood, motionless in front of her. 'My office. Now.'


	26. Answers

'Well,' Professor McGonagall slipped behind her desk, having conjured enough chairs for the students that she had summoned, and calmly healed the wounds that still bled. 'I believe there is some explaining to be done.'

'Is my Dad going to be alright?' Joshua glared at the headmistress.

'Mr Tregeagle,' McGonagall's eyes narrowed. 'I assure you that he has the best care available this side of St Mungo's. May I also remind you that I am the one who is asking the questions, and I do expect you to provide the answers.' Her stare moved piercingly from one boy to the next, waiting for a sign of weakness. 'Mr Jones,' she settled on the Hufflepuff, who sat stiffly, hiding his still-raw hand away inside his robes. 'Would you care to begin?'

Glyn swallowed uncomfortably, but said nothing.

'Mr Jones,' McGonagall repeated, calmly. 'Please do begin.'

'W... Where?' he stuttered.

'How about explaining what the "Blood of Glyndwr" is all about?'

Glyn shivered, the little colour left in his face draining to a deathly pale as the Headmistress held her stare. 'I... I don't know...'

The professor was unmoved. 'Mr Jones,' her voice carried the same firm tone as it did when it faced a misbehaving classroom. 'I _will_ find out what has happened here. It is not in your interest to hide anything from me that I later find out to be true. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Professor. I'm sorry, I, I...' Glyn snatched for breath. 'Do you know who Owain Glyndwr was?'

'I have heard the name,' McGonagall nodded. 'Although I cannot say I am familiar with his story.'

'If I may, Minerva?' A prim voice called out from the back of the office, startling some of the younger boys.

'Phyllida?' The Headmistress answered as the figure of a middle-aged woman in dark green robes shimmered inside a gilt-edged portrait frame.

Lucas, the closest boy to the speaker's picture, turned to read the inscription underneath. 'Phyllida Spore. Headmistress, 1393 to 1408.'

'Indeed I was, young man,' the witch's eyes twinkled, 'and I knew Glyndwr,' she recalled. 'A fine wizard, and a proud, proud Welshman...'

'I'm named after him,' Glyn supplied. 'Glyndwr Jones. Gran says we are related to him, but it's so long ago...'

Spore's portrait acknowledged him with a nod. 'I saw what happened in the Hall.' Her voice was steady and measured, and it was easy for the children to imagine her as she would have been at the school. 'Owain's skills as a leader were legend: never before had the people of Wales come together as they did under his banner.'

'Nor since...' Glyn sighed.

'He was more than just a great leader, though,' the former Headmistress continued. 'I knew wizards who fought both with and against him, and they all agreed on one thing. He always knew how to make the most of the country around him: where to station his armies, where to mount his attack, and where to lie in wait. Some even said that the weather fought with Glyndwr. He was one with the land, one with nature, one with the elements.'

'The Four Elements?' Greg interrupted, trying to keep up with the contents of the conversation. 'Earth, air, fire and water?'

'The very same,' Spore smiled. 'The Four Elements whose powers were united against the Wild Hunt this evening. I have not seen the like for many years.'

'Since Glyndwr...' Greg thought out loud, and Spore nodded again.

'I see you still teach them well here, Minerva.'

'Thank you, Phyllida,' Professor McGonagall's cheeks flushed for a brief moment, 'but I must make sure I too understand. Are you saying,' she steadied herself, 'that Mr Jones here is indeed descended from Owain Glyndwr?'

'I believe it would explain a great deal,' the portrait replied.

'That it would,' McGonagall's face creased into a frown, 'but how would it possible to prove?'

'I know,' Oscar offered, before hurriedly excusing his manners. 'Well, I think I know, Professor.'

'Mr Symons?' McGonagall peered down over her half-moon spectacles.

'The Sorting Hat.' He glanced to the battered old headpiece, currently perched on top of a glass display case to the Headmistress' left.

'Very well,' McGonagall agreed, and an excited flicker of whispers quickly gave way to a nervous silence as the Headmistress guided the Hat onto Glyn's head with an easy flick of her wand. The brim slipped over the twelve-year-old's eyes, and the other children found themselves waiting for the second time that night.

Glyn lifted the Hat off his head a few moments later. ''It's true,' his voice dropped to a whisper as he passed the Hat back to his Headmistress. 'We are related.'

'As you suspected,' McGonagall deduced, 'but who told you of his connection to the Four Elements?'

'Nobody,' the Welsh boy murmured. 'I never knew that would work. I don't know why I tried it,' he swallowed. 'I don't know what made me do it, but I did know Josh was going to die if no one stopped the Hunt.' His speech quickened, the words almost tripping over each other as he stumbled into a confession. 'I knew blood was important in old magic, and I knew the elements were old magic, and I guessed the Hunt must have been old magic too, because of Tregeagle's spell that sent them away... I just thought that, if there was any chance at all, I had to try... I just c... I couldn't leave him...' He looked away as his eyes started to water.

'I understand,' the Headmistress smiled kindly as Jai reached out to comfort his friend. 'I think Helga Hufflepuff herself would have been proud,' McGonagall sighed. 'Nonetheless, I do not believe we still teach the Four Elements. You may not have known of their connection to Glyndwr, but you must still have understood something of their significance.'

'It was the Welsh,' Neal Kennedy spoke out. 'When Tre... Professor Tregeagle sent the Hunt away, he spoke Welsh, and of course Welsh magic is some of the oldest magic in existence.'

'You told them?' McGonagall questioned the seventh-year.

'They worked it out themselves,' Neal answered honestly. 'Glyn knew the Welsh. I wish I could take some of the credit, but I really can't.'

'You figured out it would come back tonight,' Greg argued. 'You knew about the sunset.'

The Ravenclaw shrugged. 'Only because you found out so much about the Wild Hunt in your Christmas holiday project.'

'I see,' The Headmistress nodded, as a thin smile crept over her face. 'I learned long ago that one of the first rules for working at this school was never to be surprised by anything,' she took a steady breath. 'There are times like this, though, when that's an awfully difficult rule to follow: Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, first-years and seventh-years, all working together for a common goal.'

'Fourth-years, too!' Oscar objected, and the tension that had gripped the Headmistress' office vanished as the other students laughed.

'Of course, Mr Symons,' McGonagall acknowledged the boy. 'Of course.'

'Actually, Professor,' the blond boy continued. 'I wondered if I could talk to the Hat, too. I want to know why it's started putting muggle-borns in Slytherin.'

The Headmistress hesitated, running her palms over the leather that covered the hat as if it were a docile house pet. 'Well,' she considered, 'what could it hurt?' She held the Hat out to Cameron, who passed it back to the fourth-year.

'Why did you sort me into Slytherin?' Oscar deliberately asked his question aloud. 'Only because of _resourcefulness_ and _cunning_? He reworded the Hat's answer as part of his reply. 'What about my blood? I thought that Slytherin only wanted pure-blooded wizards?'

A slow smile spread across Oscar's lips as he listened to the Hat's answer, before lifting it from his head as he spoke again. 'Slytherins haven't always been pure-bloods,' he revealed. 'Voldemort himself was only a half-blood, and so was Snape. Above everything, Slytherin is about _self-preservation_ , about being there at the end... and being full of muggle-borns is a much better option than sitting empty, waiting for pure-bloods who might never arrive.'

A murmur of consent echoed across the Headmistress' office. 'Well said, Mr Symons,' McGonagall agreed. 'I may well have some more questions for you in due course, boys, but now is not the time. Go back to your dormitories,' she smiled. 'Some of you have got NEWTs next week.'

'The dungeon,' Greg whispered in Glyn's ear as the first-years stood up, before raising his voice to answer the teacher. 'Goodnight, Professor McGonagall.'

'Goodnight.'

Only the low crackle of the lanterns on the walls of the Slytherin common room broke the quiet that hung over the dungeon as the evening turned into the early hours of the morning. The older students had gone to bed, leaving seven first-years – four Slytherin and three Hufflepuff – still awake, although several minutes has passed since any of them had spoken.

'Are you going to sleep in the fifth-year dorm again?' Greg could bear the silence no longer.

'I guess,' Jai answered on behalf of his housemates. 'We can't really go back now, can we?'

'No,' Cameron shook his head. 'We'll have to stay here,' he concluded, yawning. 'I'm shattered.' The Hufflepuff dragged himself to his feet. 'See you in the morning.'

Jai copied his housemate. 'You coming, Glyn?'

'In a bit.' The Welsh boy's reply was barely louder than a whisper.

'Okay,' Jai nodded, turning to follow Cameron towards the staircase. 'See you.'

'I think I'm gonna go, too,' Isaac stood up. 'Night, guys.'

'Night,' Theo echoed, watching his friend head for the staircase as he stifled a yawn of his own.

Greg looked across to his friend. 'Go if you're tired, mate.'

'I'm not,' Theo answered back.

'Right,' the other Slytherin smiled. 'You've never been any good at lying. I don't know how you got Slughorn to believe that about the Four Elements in Potions...'

Theo managed a smile. 'Zac helped,' he admitted, sheepishly.

'I can't believe it's all true,' Lucas murmured.

'I wish it wasn't.' Glyn shivered.

'Glyn...?' Greg stood up, moving to sit alongside his friend. 'You alright?'

The Hufflepuff shook his head.

'That was awesome, what you did today.'

Glyn shrugged.

'It was,' Theo insisted. 'I don't know what would have happened if you weren't there.'

'I don't think you'd be here now to tell us about it.' Lucas pointed out, grimly.

'I guess not,' Theo winced at his friend's suggestion, but Glyn didn't react. 'Thanks, Glyn,' the blond boy added. 'You probably saved my life.'

The Welsh boy couldn't hide a shiver. 'Wish I knew how.' He shrunk back into the black leather of the sofa, his eyes burning.

'Glyn... It doesn't matter...' Greg reached an arm out onto his friend's shoulder, only for the Hufflepuff to shrug it away.

'You don't get it, do you?' Glyn snapped. 'I remember what I did, but I don't remember _doing_ any of it!' He glared stonily at the three Slytherins, as a cross of surprise, concern and fear crept across the other boys' faces.

Lucas was the next to speak, his voice wavering as he fought to keep it steady. 'You don't mean... you can't mean...'

'What?' Greg was alarmed. ' _What_ doesn't he mean? What's going on?'

Lucas took a deep breath, watching Glyn as the Hufflepuff sunk backwards in the sofa, hiding his reddened eyes behind his hands. 'If he doesn't remember doing it, maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was someone else.'

'What?' Theo blinked, echoing the question his friend had asked only seconds before. 'What do you mean someone else?'

'Someone else – not me!' Glyn was almost yelling. 'Maybe someone was inside my head!'

Greg bit his lip, uncertain as he offered a tentative response. 'So... isn't that something that happens to wizards...?'

'No!' The Welsh boy shouted this time. 'It doesn't! It means you're going mad, like your mind's ripping itself apart, and you can't, you can't...' Glyn hunched himself into a ball, shivering violently despite the still-present summer heat.

Theo stared back at the Hufflepuff. 'How can you be sure?' He questioned. 'Okay, you don't know what happened, but what's the difference between that and the accidental magic that me and Greg did as muggle-borns before we came to Hogwarts? I made one kid end up on top of a cupboard once. I've no idea how I did it, but it wasn't cause someone else was inside my head.'

'You weren't using blood magic, though,' Lucas countered. 'This wasn't just a harmless spell, it was life and death. That doesn't happen by accident.'

'Accidental magic happens when you're scared, doesn't it?' Greg recalled. 'Scared, or frightened, when you're out of control of your emotions.'

'Yes...' Lucas supplied, 'but...'

'How much more scared are we ever going to get?' Greg insisted. 'It looked like Tregeagle was already dead, and Josh and Theo were going to die, too! And isn't accidental magic something you've got to be capable of anyway?' He turned to Glyn's still-hunched form. 'You know you're related to Glyndwr, however long ago that was, but bits of his old magic must still exist in your blood – that's how the Hunt knew about Josh, because of his blood.' The Slytherin took a deep breath. 'Besides, I don't care how it happened, whatever you say about it. All I know is that you did it: you saved their lives, when I was too scared to do anything about it.' He forced a thin smile onto his lips as he felt the edge of a tear trickle onto his cheek. 'If you hadn't have done it, I'd have lost my best friend...'

Glyn's eyes edged open as he heard the other boy's confession, and their roles suddenly reversed as the Hufflepuff reached out to comfort the Slytherin. 'Greg,' he whispered, 'I'd never have been brave enough to do it if I hadn't have met you.'

There was barely a space to be had on three of the Great Hall tables the following morning as the first-year boys arrived late to breakfast.

'Come on, sit with us,' Greg whispered to the Hufflepuffs as his eyes scanned the unfamiliar faces that were scattered over the other House tables. 'Who are all these people?' He asked Oscar as he sat down beside the fourth-year.

'Aurors,' he nodded towards the purple robes that bookended the staff table, 'and the media,' the prefect replied. 'Newspapers and radio... and people from the Ministry. I guess last night isn't a secret any more.'

As the first-years settled into their seats, Professor McGonagall chose the moment to rise from hers. 'Students,' she announced. 'Thank you,' she paused as the room fell silent, with all the assembled heads turning in her direction. 'It will only have escaped the attention of the least observant of you that there have been... unusual... events in the school this week.'

A number of flashbulbs fired around the Great Hall, but the Headmistress was not distracted. 'Magic, by its very nature, is a powerful phenomenon. We do not know where it comes from, or how it chooses us as its vessels on earth.' She glanced down to the notes she had clearly prepared for this event. 'Sometimes, however, we take it for granted. We assume it is benign, harmless, entirely under our control. We forget there are layers and depths of which we barely know, let alone understand.'

McGonagall paused. 'Sometimes, we need to witness something extraordinary to remember this. Last night, that was exactly what unfolded in this very room.' Her eyes picked out Glyn's own as she continued. 'Last night, the unflinching loyalty of one boy was enough to awaken magic long since considered lost, and to save the lives of more than one member of the Hogwarts community.'

A series of whispers began to chase one another around the House tables, as Greg flung an arm around the blushing Hufflepuff.

'It is not for me to speculate on the whys and wherefores of the exact course of events, but it is enough for you to know that the Wild Hunt returned once more. Professor Tregeagle was attacked, and without the actions of a number of children, I cannot be sure that the Professor would still be with us today.' McGonagall allowed a buzz of speculation to spark and die down of its own accord, before continuing her speech.

'All involved will receive twenty points apiece for their endeavours,' she announced, watching the great hourglasses rise up at her words. 'Children from _all_ houses, I trust you note,' the Headmistress observed. 'Without this co-operation, I do not wish to imagine what may have happened last night. It is with this in mind that I wish to award further points: thirty to Joshua Tregeagle, for his courage and bravery throughout his father's ordeal.' The Gryffindor table cheered, but the Slytherins noticed the first-year boy blushing as a string of reporters gathered around him.

McGonagall had seen the same thing, and she did not dwell for long before announcing the next set of points. 'I award thirty more to Theo Forrest, for keeping a calm head in spite of extreme danger.' The blond Slytherin reddened furiously as the handful of his friends around him yelled in congratulation, but the Headmistress was not done.

'To Neal Kennedy, I award thirty points for the use of clear logic and calm reason in the most trying of circumstances.' Theo breathed a sigh of relief as the Hall's attention turned to the excited Ravenclaw table, where the seventh-year struggled to maintain a level expression.

'Just Hufflepuff left, then,' Greg pointed out, 'which means you, Glyn.'

'Finally,' McGonagall's voice quickly silenced the hall once again, 'for fierce loyalty, and selfless friendship, I award Glyndwr Jones eighty points.' A thin smile spread over the Headmistress' face as a frenzied search broke out along the Hufflepuff table before the Welsh boy was spotted sitting alongside the Slytherins.

'What are you doing over there?' A voice yelled out, before McGonagall spoke for a final time.

'Perhaps, Mr Tiller,' the Headmistress answered, 'he is there because he has understood that, whilst a House can be like family, sometimes what you need more than anything is a friend.'


	27. End of Term

The first-years would not have thought it possible a week earlier, but the days following the Headmistress' announcements saw the boys counting down to the start of their exams. The sudden attention that had followed the defeat of the Hunt had been welcome at first, but they quickly discovered how much they had valued their privacy.

The upside, however, was that the hostility the Slytherins had experienced for much of the year had begun to fade. Hufflepuff had clearly taken note of McGonagall's comments – and Glyn's example – whilst as senior members of Ravenclaw, Neal Kennedy and Ed Williams had been able to tell the full story of the Tuesday evening to their own House without any questions being asked. As a result, the first-year Slytherins frequently found themselves greeted in the corridors by students whom they hardly knew. The older Gryffindors were less accommodating, but with the Quidditch playoff on the horizon, this was hardly a surprise.

'You all set, then?' Ciaran Abercrombie asked a gathering of first-years in the Slytherin dungeon, which had become something of an unofficial common room for the younger boys, that Sunday evening.

'I guess,' Greg shrugged.

'What a day to have your birthday, mate,' Isaac sympathised with his friend. 'I guess I'm dead lucky mine's always in the summer holidays.'

'It could be worse,' Theo groaned. 'He could be like me, and have it during the exams.'

Greg smiled thinly. 'It's only a number. We can have a party together after the exams finish.'

'If I get through them.' Theo rolled his eyes. 'I just hope there's some questions about the Four Elements on the History exam.'

'Not likely,' Lucas shook his head. 'You heard what McGonagall said. "We don't teach those here any more." More chance of having questions about Owain Glyndwr himself.'

'I hope not,' the blond boy rolled his eyes. 'All I know is that he's Glyn's great-great-grandad or something.'

'I know he was Welsh,' Isaac put in, as several of the others giggled.

'The last _King_ of Wales,' Glyn supplied, trenchantly. 'He held the last true parliament of Wales at Machynlleth in 1404.'

'There's no way I'm going to remember how to spell that...' Greg laughed, and the Welsh boy managed a wry grin of his own in return.

'Typical English,' he shook his head.

'Oh, stop whinging,' Oscar had overheard the first-years' conversation from the other side of the room. 'How many people have ever failed their first year exams? You'll be fine!' He grinned, before glancing at the clock in the corner as he got to his feet. 'Come on, guys,' the prefect gestured, 'it's nearly curfew. Back to your dormitories. Exams tomorrow. Oh, Ciaran,' he added, almost as an afterthought. 'Have you heard anything else about Tregeagle?'

'No,' the Gryffindor answered, mechanically. 'He's still in the Hospital Wing. That's all anyone told us. Josh doesn't want to talk about it.'

Oh,' Oscar shuddered, realising he might have gone too far. 'Sorry. I don't blame him.'

'Night, Ciaran,' Greg called after the sandy-haired boy. 'Good luck tomorrow, mate.'

As it turned out, there were no questions about Glyndwr, but the first-years did come by a little luck over the course of the exam week: part of the History of Magic exam asked them to retell the story of any British myth or legend, and explain its basis in reality. There was also reason to be thankful for Ed's last-minute revision of the properties of water plants, as it made completing an essay on the properties of bogroot a far more straightforward task than it would have been otherwise. All in all, the only thing that caused the boys trouble came in their final test – a Muggle Studies question on the importance of Spice Girls to Britain.

'What the hell is a Spice Girl?' Isaac rolled his eyes as the boys left their exam room for the last time.

'Isn't it someone who works in a kitchen?' Lucas suggested.

'I don't know,' Greg shrugged, 'and I'm muggle-born! I think they were a pop group,' he shook his head, 'but I've no idea why they're important!'

'Who cares?' Theo laughed. 'That's it, no more exams for another year. Now for our birthday party... and Quidditch!'

'This is it,' Matthew stood in front of the doors that split the changing rooms from the Quidditch pitch. 'A whole year's work, all down to one match. This is it,' he repeated, 'this is all that matters. We know they're good, but we're in this match because we _deserve_ to be. We deserve the chance to bring the Quidditch Cup back to Slytherin for the first time in more than fifteen years. None of us were even born the last time we won this trophy,' the captain's eyes blazed with determination as he spoke, 'but today we can change all that. We know we can compete with them, we know we can match them, we know we can beat them. We just have to do the simple things right, stick close with our marking, make our takedowns, don't give the ball away...'

'We know, mate,' Oscar ventured. 'We all know what we've got to do. We all want it just as much.'

Greg joined in with the nods of agreement from the other younger boys, but privately he wasn't sure if he agreed with Oscar's last sentence. Sometimes it seemed as if Matthew wanted the Quidditch Cup more than anything else on earth.

'Alright,' the captain took his friend's hint. 'Here goes. Give it absolutely everything you've got. Come on Slytherin!'

'COME ON SLYTHERIN!' The other players echoed Matthew's yell at the tops of their voices before following the fourth-year out into the arena.

'Here come Slytherin!' Dan Beretta's excited voice gave its own version of the rallying call. 'We know the team by now – Seb Burns in goal, Theo Forrest and Lucas Brand beating, captain Matt Sawyer alongside Isaac Davies and Greg Bennett as the chasers and Oscar Symons the seeker. They're swiftly followed by Gryffindor, who are also unchanged as they hunt down a fourth straight trophy: the Lions line up with Kelly Marriott in goal, Darius Vallance and Marcus Fellows as beaters, Jimmy Trebarah, Norman Fellows and the incredible Indigo Yorath in the chaser line and captain Jason Newitt searching for the snitch.'

Beretta took a deep breath, allowing his colleague Dan Buckley's calmer tones to fill the void. 'It's only the third time in the history of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup – and the first since 1773 – that the competition has gone down to a playoff. Gryffindor are hot favourites to seal the crown that looked all but theirs before their shock defeat against Ravenclaw, but Slytherin have been springing surprises all season, and who's to say we won't see another one today?'

'Was that alliteration, Dan?' Beretta had recovered his breath. 'There's another surprise in the stands, too, though. We're used to seeing nothing more than a scattering of silver and green when Slytherin take the field, but it looks like the fans are split right down the middle today.'

'I have to say, Dan, I wouldn't mind seeing a Slytherin win,' Buckley replied. 'It would be the youngest winning line-up in the history of Hogwarts Quidditch, and you don't get the chance to see that very often.'

'You don't see players like Indigo Yorath every week, either,' the other voice argued back. 'It's her farewell game today, and I understand she's already signed professional forms with the Caerphilly Catapults. I'd like to see her sign off in style.'

'Well, we'll soon find out,' Buckley retorted. 'The snitch is away, the bludgers are up... and Professor Wood releases the quaffle.'

Beretta didn't let his friend dominate the commentary for long. 'THE 2006 QUIDDITCH CUP PLAYOFF HAS BEGUN!'

'Come on, Zac!' Matthew yelled across the pitch after Indigo Yorath had beaten the first-year to a loose quaffle and extended the Gryffindor lead to eighty points as the first period of the game drew to a close. 'You can't let her get free like that!'

'I'm bloody trying, alright!' The brown-haired boy snapped over the sound of the whistle. 'She's not playing for Caerphilly for nothing, you know!' He kicked against the back of his broom in frustration, accelerating towards the changing rooms as Buckley and Beretta's analysis begun.

'That's eight for Yorath,' Buckley observed, 'and nineteen for the season. Gryffindor lead, 110 to 30.'

'It's a much better game than the opening match, Dan, that's for sure,' Beretta continued, 'but maybe Slytherin would have been better off playing a defensive game once again. It's one thing tearing Hufflepuff to pieces, but something else entirely to unseat the champions...'

'You've got to lift it!' Matthew shouted as the changing room door shut behind the last of his team. 'It's all too easy for them!'

'What else do you want us to do?' Isaac was still reeling from his captain's earlier criticism. 'They're sixth- and seventh-years, we're just kids...'

'You got this far, didn't you?' Matthew shot back. 'Hufflepuff had seventh-years, you out-flew them...'

'She's flying for the bloody Catapults!' Isaac's eyes watered. 'I can't even keep up with her half the time, never mind get the quaffle off her...'

'Zac,' Greg mediated. 'It's not your fault. No one else has kept her quiet all season. It took two of us last time.'

'Well maybe it'll need two of us again today,' Matthew's voice hadn't softened. 'Greg, forget Fellows, just keep Yorath out the game, whatever you have to do. We'll work on the others. Lukie, Theo – stick to your beaters' bats. Forget scoring. This isn't Hufflepuff. Ossie?' He looked across to the seeker. 'It's gonna have to be you today, mate. I know we can keep them to less than 150... if you get that snitch, it happens. We win.'

The first half of Matthew's plan seemed to be coming to fruition as the players returned to the field to continue the contest after the break. The pace of the game slowed right down, and Indigo Yorath saw far less of the quaffle.

'It looks like Slytherin have listened to your advice, Dan,' Buckley summarised, a gently mocking tone to his voice. 'It's back to Plan A for the Snakes, with Davies and Bennett double-teaming Indigo Yorath, who's struggling to find anything like the amount of space she did before the break. Of course, this has meant a few more chances for Fellows and Trebarah, but...'

'They're not Indigo Yorath,' Beretta completed his friend's sentence as Jimmy Trebarah, the youngest of the Gryffindor chasers, sent a quaffle flying high over Seb's central hoop and into the end terrace. 'It's not what I wanted to see,' the commentator complained, 'but I can't say I'm surprised. Today, it's all going to be about the snitch.'

'That's knockout Quidditch for you,' Buckley responded. 'No points for style, nothing to gain in the league table for a valiant effort from the chasers. It's all about who takes the W. Slytherin will be trying to keep the Lions as quiet as they can for as long as they can, and hoping that Oscar Symons can make it three snatches in a row. I doubt it will be pretty, Dan, but I can promise you it's not going to be dull.'

'There's a Quidditch Cup at the end of this, Dan,' Beretta stated the obvious. 'Whatever happens next, that's something to keep looking forwards to.' He drew a breath. 'What can you tell us about the two seekers today, then?'

'Well, let's start with the challenger,' Buckley leapt at the chance to delve into his archive of statistics. 'Oscar Symons was born on January 18, 1991, in Bracknell, Berkshire. He made his Slytherin debut in January 2004 in a 370-30 defeat to Ravenclaw...'

No amount of biography, however, could aid either seeker, and as the end of the match drew ever closer, it looked as if Slytherin's valiant defence would prove entirely in vain.

'Not long to go now, Dan,' Beretta observed as the great clock that hung on the front of the stand opposite the commentators' booth opposite ticked onwards. 'Less than ten minutes by my count, and with Gryffindor leading 180-40, the game is still on: but only just. You can sense the tension in the stands, everybody's eyes are on Newitt and Symons... and their eyes are on the snitch! It looks like they've seen it at the same time; they're neck and neck; the whole season of Quidditch is going to come down to this. I can't take my eyes off them...'

'It doesn't look like Theo Forrest's got _his_ eyes on them, though,' Buckley interrupted, 'and he's right in the seekers' road. Only one thing is going to happen here...'

Theo, whose attention had been fixed on a bludger he had aimed at Indigo Yorath, spun on his broom as he heard the commentator's pronouncement, but it was too late for anybody to change course and avoid the inevitable.

'IMPACT!' Beretta yelled, as Jason Newitt flew headlong into the first-year, sending the three players crashing into one another and promptly off-balance, tumbling towards the ground.

'Aresto Momentum!' Professor Wood's strong accent echoed around the stadium, slowing the students' descent before they could hit the sun-browned grass, before the shrill sound of his whistle quickly followed. 'Time off!'

'I told you it wasn't going to be dull, Dan,' Buckley reminded his co-commentator as the eleven other players crowded around their team mates, now slowly getting to their feet, and the referee, 'but I don't think I expected this.'

'What's happened?' Beretta was reduced to asking trivial questions. 'Who has caught the snitch? Has Oscar Symons literally stolen the Quidditch Cup from out of Jason Newitt's grasp?'

'You know as much as I do, Dan,' Buckley responded without answering any of his friend's questions, 'but there may be one more question that's even more important than any of those,' he paused, sensing the crowd's attention to his every word. 'What was Theo Forrest doing, and what will Wood make of it? If Symons has caught the snitch, but Wood rules Forrest was out of order, we'll still see the penalty shot that could tie the game up.'

The blast of the professor's whistle rung out again seconds later, sounding louder than ever against a hush that had washed over the watching spectators as they allowed Buckley's words to sink in. 'As usual, Mr Buckley is quite correct,' Wood raised his wand to his throat. 'The foul took place before the capture of the snitch. Slytherin lead by 190 to 180, but Gryffindor will have a penalty.'

Theo staggered backwards as Wood's announcement echoed back from the concrete of the terraces. The long strands of his blond fringe dropped over eyes that burned red. 'I never meant to...' he protested.

'I know,' Greg grabbed his best friend by the forearm, 'but it doesn't matter. If you hadn't have crashed into him, maybe Ossie wouldn't have caught it.'

'Here's the penalty shot, then,' Beretta gave the first-years no time to dwell on the moment. 'Indigo Yorath on Seb Burns.'

'Yorath has 11 today, and 22 for the season...' Buckley provided his typical statistics.

'Better make that 23, Dan! Poor old Seb Burns,' Beretta exclaimed. 'What chance has a third-year got against a quaffle thrown like that? It's 190 points each... and what happens next?'

'I'm glad you asked, Dan.' There was an obvious glee in Buckley's tone. 'I did my research last night. I'm sure you all remember Professor Wood announcing that we would be following the rules of the British and Irish League this season...'

'Get on with it!' Beretta shouted over his friend, to a roar of agreement from the stands.

'Well, if you really don't want to hear the history of tiebreakers...'

'Just tell us what's going to happen!'

'Fine,' Buckley groaned. 'Penalty shootout.'

The packed terraces gasped as they heard the commentator's news, but down on the pitch, Greg greeted the announcement with just one word.

'Crap.'

'It's just like football,' the muggle-born boy explained to his magically-raised friends. 'You take it in turns to take a penalty... and most goals wins.'

'Good job we've been practising them, then,' Isaac was unflustered. 'How many of us need to take them?'

His question was answered through Dan Buckley's broadcast within moments. 'Three players from each side – usually the chasers – are nominated to take their penalty shots, and if it's still tied, then we go to sudden death. I'm not sure if it's Quidditch, but I can promise that you won't be able to look away.'

'It's one-on-one, Dan,' Beretta was quickly into his stride, doing what his colleague knew was an admirable job of bluffing on a subject he had never discussed before. 'The very essence of sport. In ten minutes' time, we'll have a hero, we'll have a villain, and we'll have a champion... but who will it be?'

'Gryffindor have won the toss,' Professor Wood announced seconds later, 'and they will have the first shot.'

'No surprises about who it's going to be, either,' Beretta didn't allow any silence to follow the referee's statement. 'It's Indigo Yorath against Seb Burns once again, and it doesn't take a genius to guess what's going to happen here.' The commentator drew breath as Yorath bore down on the Slytherin keeper. '1-0 Gryffindor!' He yelled, before checking himself. 'That's right, isn't it?'

'That's right,' Buckley agreed. '1-0, and now it's the turn of Slytherin's Matt Sawyer.'

'The captain himself, aiming to lead from the front,' Beretta continued. 'He's up against Kelly Marriott, who's almost been a spectator for much of the afternoon... and _that's_ how to set an example! It's 1-1, and if you thought things couldn't get any more tense, then how wrong could you have been?'

'Norman Fellows is up next.' As ever, Dan Buckley had taken on the role of providing the information for his excitable colleague. 'A sixth-year, who'll almost certainly be senior chaser next season...'

'MISSES!' Beretta yelled. 'He sent Seb Burns the wrong way entirely, but he's gone for the right-hand hoop, and the quaffle's gone six inches over!'

'The scores are still level at one each, but it's certainly Advantage Slytherin,' Buckley observed. 'Now for Isaac Davies, whose uncle Roger was part of the victorious Ravenclaw side of 1992...'

'Davies feints to go left, Marriott doesn't buy it, but Davies goes left anyway, and SCORES! It looks like he's got some big nerves in that little body of his,' Beretta drew breath as the first-year punched the air. '2-1 Slytherin.'

'Jimmy Trebarah's got to score,' Buckley supplied. 'It's not been a great day in front of the hoops for the fourth-year from Falmouth, with just three goals to show for his efforts.'

'There's a fourth, though,' Beretta cut his colleague off. 'Power _and_ placement. That's two goals each.'

Buckley summarised the state of play. 'So Slytherin have the chance to win, and that chance is going to fall to Greg Bennett, Chudleigh born and bred.'

'Can he overcome that handicap?' Beretta joked. 'Or will his cannon misfire now, with the whole school watching...'

Greg shivered as he heard the commentator's black humour. Suddenly, the hoops behind Kelly Marriott seemed awfully small, and the keeper herself loomed large. 'Don't choke...' he muttered, as the memory of his final game of football for Chudleigh Primary School came flooding back. 'Just don't choke...'

'SAVED!' Beretta's scream filled Greg's ears before the noise of the crowd and commentators merged into an indistinct buzz in his ears. He'd had the chance to win the Quidditch Cup, and he'd blown it.

'Forget it, Greg,' Oscar hugged the twelve-year-old as he stumbled from his broom, back in the centre of the pitch. 'It's not your fault.'

Greg sniffed 'Feels like it... We could have won it by now...'

'It doesn't matter,' the prefect ruffled the younger boy's hair, ignoring his tear-streaked face. 'We'll get another chance,' he insisted. 'Now come on, watch the game. 'You'll miss Theo's go.'

'What a magnificent penalty!' Greg looked up in time to see his friend's cartwheel of celebration as the beater levelled the scores to the sound of Beretta's gushing praise. 'He was under all the pressure in the world after Newitt put Gryffindor 3-2 up, but he's put that away like he was playing 4-on-4 in the garden.'

'Well done, mate,' Greg greeted his best friend as he landed back with his team mates. 'Great goal.'

Theo shrugged. 'Beretta's right, it's just like playing 4-on-4 in Harlech,' he smiled, 'my rugby coach always said that the best players in the world were the ones who played like it meant nothing when in fact it meant everything.'

'There's no time for us to dwell on that, though,' Buckley continued the commentary. 'It's Marcus Fellows for Gryffindor, trying to make up for his brother's error earlier on. Will he go the same way?'

'Yes, Dan, he will,' Beretta told the crowd what they already knew, 'and this time Seb Burns is ready! That was a firm shot from Fellows, but the keeper picked it, and he's got his foot behind it and kept it out!'

'Here's another chance for Slytherin to seal it, then,' Buckley read out the score. 'It's three goals apiece, and it's going to be the second of the Slytherin beaters, Lucas Brand, from Thetford in Norfolk, who's already scored once this season, in the win over Hufflepuff last time out...'

'It's Brand versus Marriott,' Beretta narrated. 'It's a slow start for the young Slytherin. He's taking his time to set his pace: is he going right or left?'

'Marriott's been beaten to her right twice already in the shootout,' Buckley observed. 'Will he go there again? Or is it a double bluff?'

'He's gone to Marriott's right,' Beretta screamed, 'AND HE'S SCORED! I think Marriott got a fingertip to it, and it's certainly gone in off the rim, but I don't think Lucas Brand cares about that right now! It's Slytherin 4, Gryffindor 3, and Slytherin have won the 2006 Hogwarts Quidditch Cup!'

'Come on!' Matthew yelled ecstatically, jumping from his broomstick and running to embrace his best friend. 'We did it! We won! Lucas!' The captain called out to the returning first-year. 'That was brilliant!'

The redhead dismounted his own broom, a broad grin etched onto his face. 'Thanks, Matt...'

'Well done, Lukie,' Greg added. 'That was awesome.'

Lucas' smile widened further as his team mates threw their arms around him, pausing only to welcome their keeper into the huddle.

'What a save, Seb!' Matthew grinned, ruffling the new arrival's black hair, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the third-year was several inches taller than the captain himself.

The keeper shrugged. 'I figured he'd just do the same thing as his brother.'

'You're even talking to us now!' Matthew laughed, drawing the group ever tighter and watching a smile emerge on Seb's face that matched those of his team mates.

'So now for the presentation ceremony,' Dan Beretta's voice cut over the celebrations. 'Professor McGonagall has joined Wood at pitchside, the Quidditch Cup standing between them...'

'We'd better not keep them waiting,' Oscar broke free from his team's huddle, leading the Slytherins over towards the two teachers, who stood on top of a low wooden podium.

'Here are your winners, ladies and gentlemen,' Beretta's voice boomed out once again. 'Sebastian Burns,' the commentator paused, allowing the round of cheering that had broken out from the terraces above to die down whilst the keeper took his place on the platform. 'Lucas Brand and Theo Forrest,' Beretta waited again as the two beaters followed their team mate. 'Oscar Symons,' another pause, 'and finally, Greg Bennett, Isaac Davies, and the captain, Matthew Sawyer!'

Matthew took a deep breath, steadying himself before climbing the short flight of stairs to join his friends and receive the polished trophy from the Headmistress.

'Slytherin are the Champions!' Beretta yelled as Matthew held the cup aloft, beneath a sky filled with silver and green fireworks, and a matching stream of tickertape which now covered the stage. 'It's their first trophy since 1991, and – as my friend pointed out earlier today – as the youngest side in Quidditch Cup history, who's to say there won't be many more triumphs ahead?'

After the high drama of the final acts of the Quidditch season, the last two weeks of term were always going to feel like something of an anti-climax, but this didn't worry the first-years as they made the most of their chance to enjoy the summer sunshine. Games of small-sided Quidditch, and the muggle sports of football and touch rugby, spread around the school campus as students sought to escape from the news of their exam results, or the impending task of packing for the holidays.

The Slytherins had been pleased to see that their friendship with the younger Gryffindors didn't seem to have been affected by the Quidditch final, and though Joshua Tregeagle had barely talked since his father's accident, the professor's son had begun to join in with a number of the first-years' games.

It was, therefore, something of a surprise for Greg when the Gryffindor boy beckoned him across the platform at Hogsmeade on the final morning.

'Josh?' The Slytherin asked, glancing back over his shoulder to check whether the other boy had, in fact, been signalling to someone else instead. 'Aren't you coming back on the train?'

Joshua gave him a withering look in reply. 'My Dad's not well enough to travel,' he muttered.

'Oh, crap,' Greg realised how inconsiderate he must have sounded. 'Sorry.'

Joshua raised his eyebrows. 'You said I swore too much...' he managed a weak grin. 'We're staying here for the summer.'

'Oh,' Greg swallowed, unsure what to say next. 'Is your Dad going to be alright?' He asked, tentatively.

'They're not sure,' the Gryffindor's voice dropped to a whisper. 'He'll survive, if that's what you mean, but...' Joshua's eyes began to water, and Greg instantly regretted his question.

'I'm sorry,' Greg began, but Joshua cut him off before he could say any more.

'It's not your fault,' the Gryffindor blinked. 'I don't think he'd even be alive if... if you hadn't have...' This time, Joshua couldn't stop himself from starting to cry, and Greg instinctively wrapped an arm around the other boy.

'It was you and Glyn who saved him,' Greg protested. 'Not me.'

Joshua sniffed, hard. 'I was just wondering,' he stuttered, through a film of tears. 'If you maybe wanted to come and stay for a bit this summer...' he hurried his words. 'Spencer's going to come for a couple of weeks, but...'

Greg didn't wait to hear any more. 'Yes,' he answered, simply.

'Really?' Joshua rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes.

'Really.' Greg smiled, as the loud whistle of the Hogwarts Express told the station that the great train would be shortly be departing. 'Got to go,' he nodded to the carriages. 'I'll owl you.'

'Thanks,' Joshua lifted his hand, offering a brief wave as the other first-year disappeared behind the steam of the locomotive. 'See you,' he whispered.

'I'd never have believed it a few weeks ago,' Greg shook his head as he repeated the conversation he had shared with Joshua. 'How much have things changed since the first time we were on this train?'

'It's Hogwarts, mate,' Matthew shrugged. 'Didn't I tell you, nothing's as simple as you thought it was!'

* * *

 ** _Concluding Author's Note_**

 **So that's it. I think this was probably three times longer than I ever intended it to be, and it certainly ended up with far more main characters. I wrote the first draft of the first chapter in about 2005, then abandoned it, and then revisited it to rewrite and start again in November 2010. Of course, in the intervening period, I'd changed totally (or, you might say, grown up) and as a result, so did the book.**

 **I think it was originally designed to be about Quidditch first and foremost – hence the Chudleigh Cannons references in the titles of the first two chapters – Glyndwr wasn't even in the first draft, and I think Matt and Greg were both meant to be Gryffindors... but how boring would that have turned out to have been? It's a good job I got thoroughly immersed in Saxon/Celtic mythology to be able to drench the rest of the story in flavours of British history; a lot of this is based on real places and genuine legends, and I went to most of them whilst writing.  
**

 **If you've read and enjoyed this story, please do head over to my author page and check out some of my other work - _The Crossroads_ is a one-shot take on Matt and Oscar's hesitant first steps into Slytherin and the magical world, whilst _Snake_** _**Bites**_ **(complete but rated "M" purely for language) is a story set with the NextGen children following in Greg and friends' footsteps (as Greg himself takes over from Slughorn as Head of Slytherin).** **Coming up next is _Snakes and Ladders_ , which picks up the story of _Lion, Eagle, Badger, Snake_ , a couple of weeks after the end of term, and builds into Greg's second year.  
**

 **It's only written to 53,000 words and 14 chapters at present, but I'm starting to get a clearer idea of the long-term plot (and if you've read this one through to the end, you probably have an idea of the number of strands of plot-line and sub-plots that need weaving together). I'll post the chapters that have been written to date over the next couple of weeks; if all goes well then my muses may return and we may edge closer to a conclusion. Every review helps :-)**

 **Until next time,**

 **Sheriff**


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